


Casa Caliente

by cincoflex



Series: Casa Caliente [3]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, Keeping House, Kink, Love Bites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 18:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: A weekend together in a new place helps Grissom and Sara define themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

Casa Caliente

Chapter One

The case had been--WAS, maddening. Five good clues that didn't add up to a damn thing in any sense of logic: a battered copy of The Kama Sutra, a bag of Legos, a melted beeswax candle, fifteen left sneakers and a small dead, dried guppy.

All of them had clear prints--that weren't in any of the databases. All of them a first glance SEEMED to be second-hand garbage, fished out of trash or dumpsters around Vegas. But they had been recovered from the Topsy Turvy's hotel vault using a key found clutched in a slaughtered man's hand as he dangled head first from a 200 foot overpass on the Vegas Arroyo--

Grissom rubbed his eyes and felt the ache in the small of his back. He'd pushed the team hard on this one, wracking everyone's brains and getting on their nerves until in a private moment, Catherine had glared at him.

"We are ALL doing the best we can, so back off a little, all right?"

"Well our best isn't getting the job done, Catherine. We're no further now than we were two days ago!"

"We'll get it--eventually," she tried to assure him, but he'd growled at her.

"Eventually isn't good enough, damn it!"

And she'd looked at him with that slow impatient scorn of hers, the kind that made most men quiver. Catherine had let the words fly, low and direct, her voice harsh.  
"God damn it--you know Gris, you really, REALLY need to get laid," she'd thrown at him before stalking off.

He'd stared at the file before him after that, face red, unseeing, feeling the hot flush of shameful realization move through his system.  
It was true. He'd kept his distance from Sara, put his focus back on the job and the status quo as they'd agreed. The arrangement had worked--or so he thought. Six weeks of concentration of cases had been good up until this last one, when the edges of his frayed patience had begun to unravel with a swiftness that startled everyone including himself. And the hell of it was that he knew it had been coming.

Sara was the consummate professional at work. She kept her distance and her smiles were very PC. Only once in a while would he look up to see a flash of dark heat in those brown eyes, a smoldering hint that stirred his libido and made him suck in a breath as memories stiffened his cock. Those little moments drove him back to his office, to brood.

His cell phone rang; impatiently he fished it out and flicked it open, his voice terse. "Grissom."

"Sidle. I can't come in this weekend. I have a shipment of furniture coming from my old storage unit in San Francisco and I've got to find some place to park it."

Grissom paused, looking through the glass walls of his office to see Sara standing there on the other side, her long slender back pressed against the clear panes. He leaned back in his chair.

"You're looking for storage?" he echoed, mind racing. He watched Sara nod instead of replying, amused that she knew he was looking at her spine.

Along with other things.

"Yeah--I was supposed to have a place rented for it by now, but I've been . . . busy,” she responded, her voice surprisingly gentle.

Grissom had enough grace to bite his lower lip.

He got up and walked towards her, standing on the other side of the glass wall, looking at the back of her neck as he spoke into his phone."I have--a solution."

Sara turned, finally. "Tell me more--" she arched an eyebrow at him.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, voice dropping lower. "I've got a place you can use--it's empty right now, but . . .”

Sara took a step back from the glass as a tech passed by, then shot a quick look back at Grissom, who was watching her face carefully. "A place to store furniture? You ARE a man of surprises, Gris. What sort of place are we talking about?"

"Off of Sahara, west of the fifteen. There's a little road about ten miles out--Caliente Way. Turn north and you'll see a few houses. The fourth one about eight miles down is set back from the road by a gravel driveway. 10867 Caliente Way."

Sara stared first at him, then at the phone, clearly puzzled, but a small smirk was lingering on the corner of her mouth, and seeing it, Grissom felt a shiver of hope filter through him.

"Let me get this straight--you're offering me the opportunity to store my furniture in somebody's garage?"

"No, not quite. It's--complicated. But the place is empty, and if you're in a jam time-wise, it's available. I need to go out and check the circuit breakers after work anyway--interested?"

He tried not to make his voice sound anything other than casual, but Sara leaned toward the glass wall and nodded.

Then, in a sultry move she planted a kiss on the smooth surface, her mocha lip-gloss making a perfect impression of her mouth there. She walked away, leaving Grissom to stare hungrily at her kiss on the glass.

*** *** ***

Sara reached the house first. The cool sunlight of autumn dawn in Nevada was stealing over the land as she pulled up the long gravel drive, worried about the degree of neglect evident along the way. Caliente Way was an older neighborhood, and the houses were miles distant from each other, more rural than urban. Only one had been modernized; the others were small bungalows from the Thirties, single story houses set on huge four-acre lots. Sara wondered if Grissom knew someone out here, an older acquaintance perhaps who owed him a favor.

Other, more lascivious thoughts overrode those however, and Sara glanced at her purse guiltily. Nestled deep in it was a brand new box of condoms, purchased in a moment of utter optimism three weeks back, when she caught Grissom studying at her chest halfway through a debriefing Catherine was droning through. That desperate glance had been enough to renew her hopes and rekindle her patience with the enigma that WAS Grissom.

She'd been good. Superb even, if you considered every opportunity she'd bypassed in the name of their agreement. No re-enactments. No private moments in his office or the staff room. Professional deportment for professional zones--oh she'd been a saint all right, patiently hungering for the moment he'd drop a pair of pantyhose on her desk.

And now this--offer. Store her furniture? Was this some coded message, or worse--exactly what he meant? She tried not to assume the worst, but the lingering fear that their single night at the Desert Inn would be all there were was, haunted her. Sara climbed out of the car slowly and walked to the front porch.

The bungalow, despite the neglect, was charming, a low brick and wood structure surrounded by tall hedges and pines. Someone had set brick flowerbeds along the front, but there were full of weeds now. An air of empty desolation hung about the place, and Sara moved cautiously; if anything it looked exactly like a crime scene.

Snorting at this thought, Sara stepped up onto the porch and over to one of the two bay windows, peering through dusty grey curtains into an empty room. Hardwood floors, plain plaster walls-wait, there were--bookcases. Lots of them. She started counting and reached five when she heard the sound of an SUV coming up the drive. Turning, she caught sight of Grissom's Tahoe pulling up behind her car. Forcing herself to be casual, she came down off the porch towards him, arms crossed over her chest.

He climbed out, sunglasses on, mouth in a straight line."You made it."

"Yes. Nice place."

"It's kind of you to say so," he replied evenly, striding towards her in his brisk way. At the edge of the porch he reached her, looming close, far closer than he had in a long time and Sara bit back a moan at the scent of him.

Grissom had no compunctions about crowding her though, and drove her back against the low arched front door until her shoulders thumped hard against it.

"Let me guess--it's a neutral zo--" Sara barely got out just before his mouth descended on hers and she lost herself in his demanding kiss.

God she'd missed this! Hot and brazen, his tongue slithered between her parting lips, moving in as if it owned her mouth, seeking a sultry dominance here. Sara clung to Grissom's shoulders, slightly dizzy; his big hands curved to cup her ass and slam her up against him.  
Oh yes, if the rock hard ridge pressing against her thigh was any indication, he'd missed her too. Sara whimpered into his mouth, busily letting her tongue slide around his, fighting the need to breathe as her fingers dug into his shoulders.

He pulled away gasping, pulling his sunglasses off, eyes searching her face. "Just over a thousand hours, Sara--that's the total and complete limit I can reach before loss of control sets in."

"Total?" Sara gasped, trying to follow the line of logic that seemed perfectly clear to him. One of her linen-covered legs slid around his, bringing their bodies into closer contact against the front door and Grissom groaned at the enticing pressure.

"Limit. NEED you," he growled, kissing her again. Sara cupped his face, fingers splaying out to hold it as she felt his mouth on hers again, hot, demanding. Sweet slurpy kisses echoed on the porch, and Sara lost track of how long they stood entangled there, making up for lost time, fighting for erotic dominance in the wet duel of their tongues.

Gradually she pulled back, her head thumping against the wood of the door as she tried to catch her breath. Grissom pressed his lips to the side of her neck, apparently just as intent on kissing that as her now slightly puffy mouth.

"So this has all been some sort of test?" she asked, even as the pleasure from his lips sent spirals of slinky heat down her spine.

Grissom hummed affirmatively against her skin. "I needed to know if I could take it. I'm sorry if it hurts to hear that now sweetheart, but I couldn't tell if this hunger would die or grow," he whispered huskily. 

She blinked back a sting of tears. "Yeah, well it grew. For me, it grew--" she told him. 

Grissom let his teeth nip her neck, making her moan. "Me too. In my case, exponentially," he admitted with a self-loathing tone in his voice. He pulled away from her and ran a hand through his hair, sending the normally neat grey curls into slightly tousled disarray.

The sight of it was enough to drain Sara's anger and she smirked. "And this place was the first neutral zone you could think of, Gris?"

"No--in fact mentally I've rezoned quite a number of places since . . .” he pinkened and lifted his chin, shifting the subject, "But it was the first place that came to mind when you mentioned furniture."

He fished out a key ring and unlocked the front door, pushing it open. It creaked, and Sara noted the grime they'd disturbed along the front of it.

"We're leaving a lot of evidence," she teased. 

Grissom looked down, frowning."It's been almost three months since I've checked on it," he remarked, chiding himself as they stepped inside the low doorway.

"It's very--" she hesitated. She'd wanted to say 'nice' but blurted out, "dusty."

"Thanks--I've done it in early Addams Family--" Grissom commented lightly as he walked into the living room. Sara trailed after him, moving towards a bookcase and checking out the titles.

"So this is where you keep them all-- _Spiders of Africa_ , _Stuttgart's Guide to Insects of Europe_ , _The Mind of the Moth_ , _Cockroach Cookbook_ \--yuck!"

"That one was a gift," he mumbled, looking over one of the other cases. Sara laughed. She shifted her weight on one hip and looked at Grissom's back; he was reaching for a dusty volume over his head in another bookcase and the long line of his broad shoulders sent a spike of heat through her.

"Grissom, what IS this place?"

"It's--mine," he replied absently, opening his book and flipping the pages. Sara came over, slightly miffed at being forgotten so quickly, but Grissom looped an arm around her and pulled her close, nuzzling her hair. "And as you can see honey, it's got almost no furniture. If you want to keep your stuff here, you're welcome to, rent free."

Sara wanted to ask more, but bit back her questions and gave a nod, looking over his shoulder at the layout. A large bare room. An ancient brick fireplace stood at one end of the room, flanked on one side by a windowed door. "Can I look around?"

"Sure--" Grissom set the book down and waved his arm. "Living room. That door with the windows leads to the outside and the freestanding garage. Back that way--" he indicated with a tilt of his head, "The archway leads to the kitchen and bathroom, and the other door is the bedroom."

Sara cautiously strode off, looking like a curious cat as she peered around the archway into the tiled kitchen. The design here incorporated green and yellow Mexican tile on the walls and had a brick floor, all original to the house; she laughed at the refrigerator with the rounded edges and car door handle.

"This thing's an antique, Gris--don't tell me it actually still WORKS!" she yanked it open to see several bottles of beer chilling alongside a half empty jar of salsa and a Tupperware container.  
"Interesting diet."

Grissom loomed over her shoulder, arms slipping around her waist. "I don't ever stay here long enough to eat. But the utilities are on--electricity and water."

Sara glanced over the delicately painted cupboards and down to the end of the galley kitchen, sighing. "Why?"

"Why not?" he shrugged easily, although his eyes were looking away.

Sara slipped out of his embrace and went to the door that led to the bathroom. The frosted glass door swung open when she twisted the heavy crystal knob. "Whoah."

"Impressive, no?" he grinned at her. Sara stepped in and rested one hip on the high edge of the silver claw-footed bathtub. The tiles here had seashells and Mexican mermaids in teal and pink. Sara shook her head lightly.

"Impressive yes--this place is gorgeous, Gris--a little work and you'd have a stunning piece of property here. You could rent it, sell it for top dollar."

He held up a hand, his expression bland. "Not interested. I've got enough money, I don't need to make any more at the moment." The look on his face was neutral, but Sara took the hint and shifted her gaze around the bathroom, noting it was cleaner and better cared for than the other rooms. It even had towels out, albeit faintly dusty ones.

"You like your creature comforts I see--Charmin on the roll, under, and bath rugs in good repair."

"The yard work kills me and I usually clean up before I leave," he offered lightly. Sara looked around at the fixtures in the bathroom, realizing something with a grin.

"No shower--strictly baths."

Grissom leaned against the porcelain pillar sink and nodded. Sara grinned, noting the old-fashioned back brush and moveable wooden tray built to rest across the width of the tub.

"Good clean fun--" she teased. Grissom shot her a glance that could only be described as smutty.

"And fun is always meant to be shared," he replied. Before Sara could say anything to that, her cell phone rang and she fished it out of her purse, opening it impatiently. Grissom turned and watched her reflection on the medicine cabinet mirror.

"Sidle--yeah, oh, yes, I finally have an address for you--no, no, I understand. I'll accept the fee." Glancing up into Grissom's face, she paused a moment and continued. "It's 10867 Caliente Way. Off of the Fifteen, south. Pretty sure it's on MapQuest, yeah. Thank you. Oh! That soon? Oh--well okay. Thanks."

She shut the phone off as Grissom cocked his head and spoke up. "San Francisco is about five hundred and seventy miles from here, give or take. If the van left around five this morning, it should be here at noon. Which means we have six hours to rest up until it arrives."

Reaching for her hand, he tugged her up and led her out of the bathroom, crossing to another frosted door on the other side and pushing it open. Sara followed him into a dim room, smelling a faint, ghostly scent of flowers.

"The only real furniture in the house, and the only true antique, by definition," Grissom murmured, moving to pull a heavy drop cloth off of it. Sara stared, her brown eyes wide at the sight.

"Grissom, it's magnificent," she managed, choking a little. 

He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. The bed against the far wall was a full-sized and elegant one with an ornately carved wooden spool frame and tall posts rising from each corner. Despite the faint light in the room, Sara could see it was probably oak, and fairly sturdy despite its graceful appearance. She stepped closer.

The spread on it was of--dragonflies, she noted. A delicate pattern of them on what appeared to be a Chinese watercolor background. Quickly she shot a look back over her shoulder at Grissom, who was watching her, his eyes sweetly bright. "Your bed?"

"Now it is, although I haven't slept in it in about fifteen years. The mattress and box spring are fairly new, custom-made for the frame which is a nonstandard size--between a full and a queen, one of those odd deals," he teetered a hand back and forth as he spoke.

A theory began to form in Sara's mind, and she half-smiled, walking over to the bed slowly, patting the mattress with a gentle hand.  
"So--was she from your mother's side or your dad's?"

The soft smile that flickered across his face was full of love and memory. "My mother's side," he replied in a low voice.

Sara moved back to him and slipped her arms around his waist, holding him tightly; after a moment, he hugged her back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Slow and timeless and sensual; Sara felt the aura of passion circle the room like incense smoke the room the minute he sighed. Sara drew in a shaky breath, not sure she could contain herself much longer, but Grissom stepped forward and brushed her temple with a light stroke of his fingers.

"I have an important question for you Sara sweetheart--you'll need to choose wisely," he rumbled. Sara lifted her face, feeling the tantalizing brush of his lips on hers, the lightest of delicate kisses.

"W-w-what?" she demanded breathlessly in the wake of the heat surging through her.   
He smiled against her mouth. "Bed or bath?"

Sara's glance flickered over his shoulder and in that little gesture her answer was clear. Grissom nodded. He stepped back through the frosted door and to the tub, turning the handles. A thin trickle of tea colored water splashed out, clearing within a few seconds. Grissom scooped the rubber plug from the wooden tray and dropped it on the drain, then adjusted the flow to a solid deluge of hot water. Sara started to step out of her boots, but Grissom shot her a strict look.

"But--" confused, she paused and he stood up, coming over to her, hands dropping on her thin shoulders squeezing them.

"You'll do nothing for yourself--" he intoned sternly, "Nothing."

A sarcastic reply began to bubble up within her; Sara wanted to protest that she wasn't helpless, but Grissom bent and sucked her lower lip into his mouth at the same time he lightly twisted one of her wrists behind her back. In that simple pairing of gestures, Sara found herself trapped and held in his lazy masculine strength. He let go of her lip after a soft nip and sighed happily.

"I'm going to bathe you, sweet Sara. Savor the play of hot water over every inch of your bare skin as I get you ready for me."

She trembled. Even without stockings she felt bound, tied up by Grissom's matter-of-fact and yet seductive words. He smiled, and knelt, looking up at her. "You have lovely feet, Sara."

He pulled her boots off, along with the thin dress socks, neatly storing them off to the side of the tub, which was rapidly filling. Grissom slid his hands up to her waist, finding the side zipper of her dress slacks and slowly pulling it down. Sara shivered at his light touch. The slacks slid to her bare feet with a whispering sound, and Grissom helped her step out of them. Neatly, he folded them, laying them on top of the boots.

"This is sort of new in the kinky department," she ventured, her voice quaking a little as Grissom turned on his knees before her, blue eyes drinking her in.

"Really? Who's in charge here?" he asked her as his fingers slid with knowing care under the hip cords of her thong, playing with them for a moment as she watched, shivering.

"Gris, that tickles . . ." she warned helplessly, knowing her nipples were hard and aching now, that her skin was alive in ways she never knew it could be. He leaned forward and kissed her bare thigh; she moaned out loud.

"You're driving me crazy and you're doing it on purpose," came her strangled accusation. Her fingers slid into his curly hair, stroking it lovingly as he let his mouth glide from one thigh to the other.

"That, honey, is the pot calling the kettle black," he muttered against her skin. Slowly he hooked his fingers around the cords at her hips and pulled; the thong slid down with a whisper to Sara's ankles.

She tightened her grip on his hair; not enough to hurt, but enough to hold herself steady as he gave a low, pleased groan.

"Your fair and perfumed garden, Sara, your valley of joy," he sighed, lightly brushing the tip of his nose against her soft fur. Sara whimpered.

Swiftly, Grissom rose, his hands skimming up her sides, under her bra, blouse and leather jacket. He lifted them all off in one hurried stroke as she lifted her arms to let him. Grissom dropped the tangled clothing to the tiled floor, neglected as he tugged Sara against him, hands roaming eagerly along her back and bottom.

"Ohhhh--" Sara gurgled, her hypersensitive skin rubbing hard on his clothes, his heavy aroused frame.

Grissom breathed huskily into her ear. "Into the water, or I won't be able to stop."

She resisted for a second, but a quick glance at his desperate expression made her pull away and totter over to the edge of the tub. Carefully, she gripped the edge and slid one foot into the steaming water, wincing at the heat and wishing there was at least a rubber mat on the bottom. Grissom's hands held her waist.

"Careful," he murmured, fingers lingering over the taut muscle of her ass as she slowly unfolded her long legs into the bath. Sara let herself relax into the heat, taking deep breaths as she settled in.

"This actually feels sort of--good, in a way. I'm used to bubbles or at the very least some bath salts, but never in a tub this deep." she told him. Grissom stood up and took two steps to the medicine cabinet over the sink. He reached in and pulled out a small glass jar filled with pearly marbles of various faded colors. Selecting three, he tossed them into the water around Sara, who watched them sink and begin to dissolve, grinning.

"Bath oil? Who uses . . . wait, of course--Thirties house, Thirties beauty regime--bath oil." She sniffed lightly. "Roses?"

"Roses. Long stemmed American Beauties to match the one already in the tub," Grissom teased in a light tone that didn't match the intensity of his gaze. Sara missed it, watching the oil begin to rise and drift on the surface of the water.

"Smells great. A little old-fashioned but . . .” She watched as Grissom knelt and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong rangy forearms.

"Relax, sweetheart," he crooned softly, reaching for the soap, lathering it up between his big hands. Sara tilted her face up in obedience and waited for his touch.

It was gentle, reverent, and intimately sensual. She watched his strong fingers slide over her shoulder, tracing patterns on her skin, following the line of her clavicle and leaving small soap bubbles behind. She hummed in response, shifting to let him flick water on her back, her chest, her neck.

"Every inch of you is magnificent, Sara. Long and lean, strong and sexy. I first fell in lust with your neck. You wore an open collared shirt when we met and I could see the blue pulse of your carotid right here," he touched the side of her throat, "and all of a sudden I had this desire just to rest my tongue on it, FEEL your heartbeat with my mouth . . .”

Sara's eyelids fluttered and she sucked in a breath at his hoarse whisper, feeling his exhalation on her wet skin as Grissom put his mouth just under her jaw line. The hot syrupy tingles between her thighs were growing stronger with every touch of his hands and the scent of rose oil floated around them in a heady wave. She tilted her head back as one of his hands slid down between her breasts, the other along her spine.

"Grissom" she sighed, languidly enjoying his touch the way assertive cat would, "Not to rush this, but I really WANT you. We still have a consummation I'd like to get to?"

"Mmmmmmm," he rumbled against her skin, fingers sliding down her stomach to toy through her silky curls, "In due time. I've craved you for a month and a half, Sara--give me a moment to take pleasure in seducing you."

"I thought I was seducing YOU this time."

His fingers brushed the pearl deep between her thighs and she shivered. He laughed low in his throat, shaking his head slowly and he lifted his hot eyes to look at her. "Think what you will; I know what I am."

"What's that?" she sighed, widening her thighs to his deft touch, leaning back in the water.

"In control, honey," came his quiet gruff voice.

Sara's eyes flew open and she turned to stare at him, a tingle of fear running through her lust now, but he tilted his head and locked his eyes with hers, his expression a bleak blend of desire and yearning.

Passion in restraint.

And THAT look, she understood.

"Make love to me, Grissom, please," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face, "Deep and slow and hard."

Her words freed him somehow; Grissom reached for her, pulling her up out of the tub and into his arms, ignoring the wet splash of water. Sara wrapped herself around his strong stocky frame, opening her mouth to his in a languid kiss as he lifted her.

"Now." Grissom rasped against her lips, and carried her to the bedroom, sleek and wet. Sara felt herself dropped on the bed, felt the cool shock of silk against her spine. She wanted to protest, but Grissom was looming over her, rapidly tugging his polo shirt off. Sara reached for his belt, but he laid a hand on her wrist and shook his head.

"I have to do it," he reminded her and she lay back, watching him, wondering if her purse was anywhere close. And then Grissom's hot heavy frame, naked and hungry, dropped on hers and Sara lost herself in the glorious joy of skin on skin.

Considerately he kept his weight balanced on his forearms, planted on either side of her shoulders as he kissed her forehead and cheeks, his chest caressing hers, his hips pinning hers. Sara laughed, low in her throat, reaching to tug one of the curls dangling over his forehead.

"I bought supplies, but they're in the other room."

"I've got one," he groaned, his eyes half-closed. In the dim light of the bedroom, dust motes danced down the shaft of weak sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains on the French doors, and Sara sighed.

"Tie me?"

"No time," he admitted, rising up on his knees, lightly nudging her sleek thighs apart. Sara blinked up at him, watching the thin sunlight highlight the silver in his hair, accentuate his skin, so pale where the sun never touched it, so dark where it did. He tore the foil on the tiny packet, but she reached up, her expression tenderly submissive.

"Allow me," Sara breathed in a soft whisper, "please?" He looked down and slowly nodded; she lightly sheathed him in the latex, fingers reverently rolling it down his thick shaft, reaching the wiry grey fur that spread out from it. He dropped his head back and gave a low hard sigh.

"Sara--" in that single slow cry of her name he lowered himself onto her, hands sliding up to hers, fingers interweaving with hers. With a ruthless gentleness, he pinned her hands over her head, holding them there as he stared into her eyes. Sara trembled. Her thighs parted and she slid her legs around his hips without thinking, feeling the hard nudge of him against the hot folds of her sex. 

"Say you want me, sweetheart, say you NEED me," he urged, his voice harsh and low. She writhed, but he held still, not moving, just THERE in a maddening tease.   
Sara growled in a tiny squeak, like a kitten. "God YES I want you, need you--" she gasped, mouth busily tasting his chin, his jaw line. He grunted a little.

"It--might hurt--" he warned. Sara nodded, biting her lip. He pushed forward, barely breeching the ring of muscle and she gasped at the heated heft of him. Grissom nipped her shoulder, keeping her hands pinned over her head on the soft mattress.

"You're--tight. Relax, Sara, please honey,"

She tightened her legs around him thrumming her heels on his back in playful frustration. "I AM relaxed, I just WANT you so much I'm going insane here!" she blurted, rolling her head back and forth on the pillow.   
Grissom tensed. "LOOK at me, Sara," he ordered in a terse tone. She opened wet lashes to gaze up at him. He shuddered at the sight of her, pinned and beautiful in the soft light.

"Point of no return, sweetheart. When I move, it's NOT going to be gentle. I've wanted you too long for that," came his growl.  
Sara felt his words dance down her spine, making her entire body throb relentlessly with a dark, primal need. "Take me, TAKE me then," she surrendered, arching her neck.

He thrust his hips forward in a powerful plunge, sliding deep and hard within her; Sara gave a cry of pleasure, her fingers gripping his bigger ones tightly as her hips rocked into his. Grissom groaned a wild needy sound the perfect counter note to hers. He pulled back, stroked again into her, beginning a deliberate rhythm, the bed creaking under the weight of them.

"Ohhhh!" Lost in the relentless drives of her slender body, Sara locked her long legs around his hips, and using the only leverage she had, tightened them, urging him deeper. His shaft was stretching her, filling her in ways she never dreamed a man's body could, and the exquisite tug that came with every thrust was driving her ever closer to the molten edge of orgasm.

Grissom stared down at her, a single trickle of sweat rolling down his temple. "Sweet temptress--" he growled, the tendons on his neck taut, his eyes blazing now, "God! Sara my luscious glory--"

Sara's lips parted as her breathing came in quick gasps. She twisted her hips, seeking more of the wild heat rising relentlessly washing over her in a glorious wave--

Now

Now

NOW--

She tensed, the slow bliss pouring like honey through her, thick and sweet, flavored with musk and sweat and tears. Grissom sucked in a sharp breath, his back arching hard as he buried himself deeply between her damp thighs. His big hands tightened their grip on hers, holding them down. "Mine, Sara honey," he growled "You. Are. Mine--!"

And dimly, through the warm afterflush of her orgasm, Sara felt the hard throb of his thick cock pulsing as his body covered hers.

Her tears overflowed and ran down her face; his tears trickled hot and wet along her cheek, stinging and welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sara rose through layers of sleep slowly, regaining consciousness without opening her eyes, letting her other senses have their say. A smile crossed her mouth as she took stock of her situation: warmth of a larger body holding hers, damp silk under them. The sweet scent of mingled sweat and musk hung heavy in the air. The call of a mockingbird from outside rode over the rustle of wind through the pines--

"I know you're awake," came the soft, amused voice in her ear. Sara opened her eyes, turning to look at Grissom. He had his head propped up on one hand, the other cupping her breast lightly.

She smiled. He looked slightly wild with his tangled hair and faint stubble evident on his cheeks. "What time is it?"

"About eleven--we've been asleep for about four hours. Your furniture is going to be here soon."

"Oh God, that's right,” she blinked rapidly, trying to sit up. The big hand on her chest didn't let her though, and she shot Grissom a puzzled look.

"First things first. Are you--okay?"

She took a moment before answering, flexing and stretching, sensing the deeper question in his eyes. Sara lifted her chin. "I'd like to think I'm BETTER than okay, given the amount of moaning you were doing.”

He blushed. Sara bit back a giggle at the sight of Grissom Grissom flushing with embarrassment as he lay naked with her in the midday heat in the cocoon of the bedroom. His mouth twisted in a wry grin. "I distinctly recall a duet of voices, Ms Sidle."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" she sighed luxuriously, smile flashing out as her hand came up to rest on his over her breast. Grissom gave an answering smile of rare sweetness.

"I want you to know I've never FELT--so utterly--" she stumbled, shying away from admitting the L word, not sure of its reception even now in the aftermath of their union.

Grissom's mouth twitched a bit."--Consumed by the bright essence of another's soul?" he teased, but lightly. Sara arched an eyebrow, not sure what to say. He laughed.

"I read that little phrase in a Harlequin Romance in this very house almost thirty six years ago. As an unimpressed ten year old I thought it was an incredibly corny way of announcing the characters had had sex. But now--"

"YOU read a Harlequin Romance?" Sara bit her lips at the very thought of Grissom as a boy hunkered over a yellowing paperback, rolling his eyes and thumbing through it.

He gave in to her amusement and laughed. "I was trapped here, caught without my standards of Gray's Anatomy and copies of Mad. All the reading material that was available in the living room bookcase that first summer consisted of Harlequin Romances and ancient Sunset magazines."

"Tough choice."

"Tell me about it--a summer full of Blaines and Cathys falling into each other's arms," he sighed with a hint of melodramatic emphasis.

Sara propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze taking in the room once more. "So are you going to tell me about this house?"

"I have every confidence you can put the clues together and figure it out yourself, Sara. A keen mind to go with your delectable body.” As he spoke, Grissom let his thumb rub lightly over her rosy nipple; Sara felt it stiffen eagerly against his touch.

She let her head drop back for a minute and savored the sensation. "This house used to belong to a woman, that's pretty clear.”

"And you can tell that from--?"

"The décor mostly. The little touches like glass knobs and flowerboxes and Harlequin Romances. And the bath oil of course. So given what few hints you've dropped, I'd say that this place was either your aunt's or grandmother's house."

"Very good," Grissom praised, hand sliding from one breast to the other. Sara bit back a moan and tried to stay focused.

"And by your own admission you spent time here as a kid, probably your summers since that would be both logical and likely.”

"Top of the class so far, honey--"

"--And if you don't STOP that I'm going to have to jump you," she warned. Grissom laughed, dropping his mouth to her nipple, letting his tongue circle it before pulling away reluctantly.

"Tempting as that is, we've got a few things to do before we indulge again. How much furniture are we looking at, Sara?"

She blinked, running through a mental inventory as she rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder. "Three sofas, a Chinese armoire, coffee table, some rugs, assorted household goods I threw into boxes mostly without labels--and bookcases of course. A few other things."

"No bed, appliances, Christmas ornaments?" came Grissom's curious tone. He sat up, letting his glance linger over her nude form.

Sara dropped a shielding hand between her thighs in the age old gesture of modesty. "Probably, and keep your roving eyes to yourself, Doctor Grissom."

"Too late. I have breached the gates of paradise and fully intend to do so again, Sara my sweet."

She looked up at him, meeting his clear pellucid gaze and in that moment heard him whisper it in soft wondering tones. Her eyes stung and she dropped her head, overwhelmed.

Grissom took her chin in his hand, raising her face, smiling at her. "Surprised?"

"Yes," she gulped. He drew her close and kissed her forehead.

"We've got to get dressed. I'll go pick up some groceries and a few amenities for us, all right?"

Sara nodded, thinking hard. "For--the weekend?"

Grissom nodded, tugging on his slacks, fishing for his shirt as he replied. "Yes. Think of this place as a--neutral zone of parity. My house, your furniture."

"A love nest," Sara asked in an odd voice. He lifted his head to look at her, seeing the fleeting expression of confusion and bitterness cross her face.

Grissom froze as she scrambled off the bed. "Jesus! I don't intend on being a KEPT woman, Grissom. That sort of arrangement went out with fedoras and Philco radios! In the twentieth century women aren't property you know, we HAVE intelligence and wills of our own!” She tried to push past him to the bathroom, but he snagged her by the waist, reeling her in against his bare chest. She struggled, but he tightened his grip on her, pinning her against the broad hot muscles of his chest.

"You're not being KEPT, Sara. You're free to walk out of this house and this relationship whenever you want to," he admitted thickly, "But this--it's all I can OFFER you right now."

Sara tensed at the pain in his voice and looked up, seeing a bleakness cross his face. Grissom sighed, his eyes closed. "The more I want to--control you--the more I realize I can't. Not without your consent, Sara. And I WANT you so very, very much.”

She swallowed hard, forcing the bittersweet words out. "I want you too. But I'm NOT your plaything, Gris. I'm a grown woman and I don't hand myself out on a platter to just anyone."

Grissom gave a nod, a reluctant acknowledgement of her personal autonomy; Sara felt him tense and knew how much that little admission cost him. She tipped her head to flick her tongue along the cleft in his chin, sighing softly, waiting a long moment.

A serious moment.

She sighed. "And with that being said and understood, all right. You go to the store and I'll get dressed."

He blinked, stunned at how quickly the crisis had passed, his blue eyes searching her brown ones wonderingly. Sara smiled crookedly. "I think you ought to get a bathmat--I'm not about to risk another concussion."

"Jawohl--anything else?" he recovered, letting his grip around her loosen. She kissed his chin again to hide her expression.

"You might think about sports cream--some of the stuff that's coming is pretty heavy." Sara muttered sweetly.

Grissom looked wary.

*** *** ***

While he was gone, Sara set out to explore the bungalow on her own, holding the key Grissom had pressed into her hand tightly. It was slightly rusted, and hung on an ancient Chicago Cubs keychain. The date on the back was 1968, and she pictured him carrying it various pockets all those years, the enamel wearing off as it rubbed over time.

The kitchen cupboards were empty, the shelf paper in them a pattern of faded daisies. Sara noted the enamel sink was chipped, but the window over it was utterly charming, opening out on the back yard through thin embroidered cotton curtains. She carefully undid the hook and eye latch for the back door and opened it, looking out onto a broad flat brick patio.

Sara wandered out, amazed. Someone had carefully laid out the brick flowerboxes that bordered the yard, arranging them along the perimeter to make a cozy enclosed area easily bigger than her entire apartment back in town. An ancient towering cottonwood stood in the far back, casting shade over the yard along with smaller pines around it. She looked again.

"Oh my God . . .”

Through the branches she could see the faint ancient boards of a platform, a rudimentary tree house high in the branches. Stepping out, Sara felt a sweet shiver run through her at the sight of what had undoubtedly been a young Grissom Grissom's sanctuary. A huge smile crossed her face, and she shaded her eyes.

"Evidence of an actual CHILDHOOD--will wonders never cease," she muttered to herself. Walking carefully across the lawn, she kept her eyes on the platform until she stood at the base of the tree looking twelve feet up at the bottom of it.

"I'll bet you spent a few nights out there, looking at stars between the leaves, wondering about your place in the grand scheme of life, huh, Gris," she sighed. She turned to go, and something caught her eye. A strange mark on one of the brick flowerbeds seemed oddly familiar, and Sara squatted to take a look. Overgrown weeds obscured part of it; she swept them back to stare at the brick, seeing a handprint in white paint against it.

A small handprint.

Cautiously, Sara reached out her own palm and laid it over the mark on the wall, her hand engulfing it easily. Looking right, she saw--another. Slightly larger.

And beyond that one, another one.

Along the back wall of flowerbeds half hidden by the weeds was a graphic timeline, moving from left to right in a series of white painted palmprints, six in all, each larger than the last, with the biggest jump between then third and fourth prints. Sara smirked, touching them.

"Growth spurt, big boy. Must have hit puberty with all those raging hormones. I'd say this hand probably started getting a workout right about then."

Laughing at her own words, Sara rose up and walked back into the bungalow, still grinning.

She scooped some water from the faucet and took a drink, then wiped her hands on her hips and walked over to the living room again, looking at it a bit more critically, trying to place invisible furniture in it. Faintly in the back of her mind she wondered why she felt so off-balance, and a sudden thought came to her in one solid rush, like a punch to the stomach.

//Like newlyweds. Setting up a home. Oh GOD//

She swayed a little, laughing and crying in the same moment, overcome with the idea. Not an apartment, not hotel room somewhere, but a true trysting spot.

A trusting spot.

Panic set in, and she looked around wildly, wondering how Grissom would react if she simply left--jumped in her car and drove off, back to the city, leaving boxes and furniture sitting on the porch and driveway in a scatter of debris--

The doorbell chimed, a rusty note that startled her so badly she actually flinched at the sound. Through the curtains of the bay window nearest the door she could see someone trying to peer in. Sara sighed.

"Hey, you got here," she smiled weakly at the two men on the porch. One of them was long and lean, with a shaggy mullet. The other was as round as a three tiered snowman, and held out a clipboard to her.

"Ms. Sara Sidle?"

"The one and only," she admitted, taking the paperwork and looking it over, trying to hide her jitters. The two men slouched as she checked the sheet.

"We made good time," the snowman ventured. Mullet nodded. Sara shrugged.

"I guess you did--well, the living room's ready so, haul away . . .”

They did. Moving with the practice of an old team in sync, Mullet and Snowman managed to bring in two of the sofas before Sara heard the Tahoe crunching up the drive. Grissom climbed out, staring into the open end of the van with fascination as she slowly walked out to meet him.

"Look at that,” he pointed to the upper reaches of the interior.

Sara looked. A small yellow and grey spider sat in the middle of a glittering web between buckle straps on the ceiling.

"A spider," she noted.

"Not just a spider, it's a House Grey all the way from the Bay Area--Hey, do we have a jar?" he asked eagerly, climbing up into the back of the van. Sara crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the woozy surge of tearful giggles that threatened to rise up again at the sight of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

After the movers left a few hours later, Sara looked at piles of stacked boxes cluttering the living room and dropped her hands on her hips. She glanced over at Grissom, who was staring at his feet, hands deep in his pockets. The moment of truth, hot and awkward stretched on between them, and Sara wasn't sure how to breech it. She ran a hand over the nearest carton to cover her emotions.

"You look nervous," Grissom blurted softly.

Sara looked up at him. "I'm standing here wondering if I should just leave everything in the boxes or not--I mean, it's not as if anyone's going to LIVE here, so why bother, but I haven't seen some of this in a few years, so I'm caught between those two conflicting urges--"

"Unpack," Grissom urged softly. "Leaving things in boxes doesn't do anyone any good. You forget what you have, you lose track of WHO you are when your past sits in cartons."

Startled, Sara met his compassionate gaze and then let her glance flick to one of the dusty bookcases. Grissom followed her eyes and gave a shrug. "Let me show you something."

Turning, he walked to the side door leading outside to the free standing garage, and Sara trailed after him, intensely curious. He reached for the keyring once again and found the one for the rusted Yale lock that closed the hasp of the garage door.

The lock was stiff, but he finally opened it, and pushed the door open, reaching overhead for the dangling chain. A quick pull, and a sickly yellow light from an overhead bulb lit the garage.

Sara let her eyes adjust to what she was seeing. She cocked her head at the sight of cartons. Dusty footlockers, drape--covered crates all neatly stacked against the far wall.

Grissom sighed. "This is the legacy of an amazing, proud, strong woman--all that's left of my aunt Doreen."

Sara stepped closer to the nearest box, looking at the neat label printed in a curved feminine hand: Native Wildlife Files 1967-68 Buzzard through Gila Monster. Native Wildlife Files 1967-68 Horned Toads through Yucca Mice.

The next box held records for 1968 through 69, and Sara could see other years stacked up behind them in other cartons. Grissom stepped closer to her. "In those boxes are twenty years of field reports on all native fauna for the Las Vegas area as sent in by various rangers, geological survey teams and conservation workers. Aunt Doreen spent her career compiling them into reports for the Department of the Interior and the Wildlife Commission. First on manual typewriters, then on electric. By the time she retired in 1974, she'd been tracking the rise and fall of animals native to this region for almost a quarter of a century, Sara."

"It's . . .” She began, slightly stunned, but Grissom shrugged.

"Sweetly sad. She was dedicated to her work, and good at it, but ultimately it's all anyone but I remember of her. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of these copies."

Sara looked at a few of the other boxes, reading labels as Grissom moved behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, burying his nose in her hair."Over and over, the same lesson keeps rolling through my days, Sara, a lesson I THINK I've learned until I realize I haven't."

"And that is--?"

"Simply that a vocation is NOT a life, sweetheart. Dedication is well and good, but can never replace the tangible beauty of that heavenly connection to someone else."

Sara swallowed hard. After a moment she spoke softly, glad she couldn't look at him while the words flowed out of her, the quote she recognized even from the first time she'd seen it.

"Yeah I read something about that connection once. It went--'I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where 'I' does not exist, nor 'you', so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep' . . .”

"Pablo Neruda," he breathed, his grip tightening around her in a delicious ferocity. Sara moaned low.

Wordlessly she turned, wrapping herself about him tightly, pressing as if she wanted to meld with his very frame, and Grissom easily lifted her, clutching Sara in an embrace that left them both breathless.

"Sweetheart?" his voice, low and hungry, sounded strained in the dank garage. She said nothing, simply nodding her head in sweet agreement to the unspoken plea in his voice.

Acquiescing.

*** *** ***

The light had changed in the bedroom, tinting everything with golden hues of late afternoon as it glinted off the walls. Sara's huge Chinese armoire sat against one, the beveled mirror on the door reflecting the image of the four-poster bed.

Still holding Sara in his arms, Grissom turned and studied the glass thoughtfully. "It fits the room."

Sara smiled. She had seen a pair of stockings amid the other supplies Grissom had bought, and a little shiver of pleasurable anticipation ran through her this time, a frisson of eagerness at the thought of being under him again--if not in the literal sense then the metaphorical one for sure.

"A serendipitous circumstance, really," She sighed, snuggling into his neck, which smelled good.

"A sign of things to come,” he corrected with a smile, "Wait here."

Sara did, peeking into the armoire drawers while Grissom was gone, delighted to find a few items she'd forgotten were still in there when she'd packed it. Clean underwear for one--certainly a lucky break, she chuckled to herself. Before she could delve further, Grissom had returned, a plastic drugstore bag in hand.

She arched an eyebrow at him, but he moved closer, driving her along until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed. Grissom loomed over her as she slowly landed on the mattress and planting his knuckles on either side of her head he dipped his face and kissed her quickly.

"Sara, Sara," he smiled, his eyes bright and hot; so blue they practically gleamed, "Will you play a game with me?"

She held up her wrists, but he merely kissed the pulse points on them and shook his head.

Sara frowned. "But--I was starting to--look forward to it . . .” she didn't MEAN to pout but did anyway; Grissom laughed, cocking his head.

"Stockings yes, but not on your wrists, not this time. I'm giving you a little more freedom than that, sweetheart."

Puzzled but intrigued, Sara rubbed noses with him, drifting into a kiss of delicious intensity that left them both gasping.

"Ohhh you're so good at that. Okay Grissom, what's the game?" she gurgled when she could catch her breath again. Grissom smiled.

It was the slightly dangerous smile; his anticipatory look of sensual craving that she was beginning to recognize now. He sat up and stroked her cheek.

"They say love is blind, Sara."

Licking her lips, tasting him on them, she glanced down at the bag. Slowly Grissom fished out a single stocking, dangling it between his fingers, his voice low and soothing.

"A blindfold. You won't see me, but you'll feel me, taste me, hear me, honey. Think of it as a workout for your other senses."

"Blindfolded?" Sara asked softly, feeling her face flush.

"If you think you can handle that," Grissom nodded, watching her expression carefully.   
Sara reached out and touched the stocking, her skin hot now, tingling. "But I won't be--tied up," she quavered.

"No, not--physically."

She nodded. Grissom waited a slow tingling pulse of a moment, then stroked her cheek again, his eyes locked on hers, brows slightly furrowed. "Good. Take your clothes off for me, Sara."

Fumbling, she pulled her shirt off and shimmied out of her pants, leaving them in untidy heaps on the hardwood floor. Grissom didn't touch her, but the weight of his greedy stare was as palpable as a caress when he sighed. "You're like a secluded beach, Sara Sidle--long and curved and unforgettable. Cool and hot, a feast for the soul, and a siren's call to the untamed beast in a man like me.”

So saying, he moved behind her and looped the stocking over her eyes, wrapping the stretchy fabric twice around her head before knotting it in the back with the quick release loop and letting the long ends dangle to her shoulders.

Sara stood by the edge of the bed, trembling a little, chills racing through her as this outrageous assault on her senses began.

The still, warm air of the bedroom. The scent of dust and wood and sex drifting on it. Grissom's breathing, quicker now--

He touched her arm and she jumped, lips parting in a gasp.

"You're naked for me, Sara. Alone in a house with a bed and we're going to use it, aren't we?" he purred into her ear.

"Oh God I HOPE so!” She laughed nervously, head jerking a little back and forth. Her hand came up, reaching for him but met empty air. Sara sensed him shifting away and around her; she tried to turn but Grissom was quicker, coming to press up against her long spine, his clothed heat a lovely shock against her bare skin.

"Mmmmmm--I love you in your nudity. If I could have my way you'd never wear much in this house.”

"That's going to make winter a little rough," she reached behind her, running her hands along his hips, feeling the fabric of his khakis, the material smooth to the touch. Grissom gave a little growl and pushed forward, unsubtly, rubbing himself against her ass.   
Her fingers cupped the straining ridge of his hard-on and she laughed deep in her throat. "Is that a mountain range or are you just happy to see me?"

"Why don't you do a little hiking and find out?" he countered saucily into her ear, his hot breath sending quivers down her spine. Sara nodded.

She turned around and let her hands slide up to find the buttons on his shirt. Working by touch gave a new sensitivity to her fingertips and she marveled at the sensation of warm fabric and under it, hotter skin. As she struggled with his shirt, Grissom's hands were sliding along her bare hips, stroking her.

"Appropriate language for appropriate situations and God, I don't feel like being polite at the moment."

She leaned closer, tugging the shirt from his shoulders, pressing her teeth against the flesh there and nipping; he sucked in a laugh. She lifted her face, unable to see him as she smiled her own dangerous grin.

"Bad language, Gris? I'll believe it when I hear it."

His hands guided hers downward, to the zipper of his tented fly. "I'm going to fuck you, Sara, harder than you've ever HAD a man before, sweetheart,” he crooned, ruthless sincerity in his bold words.

Sara flushed, delicious shock filling her system. Words like that from Grissom--her fingers twitched, but he pressed them to the tab of his fly.

"Show me you want it, honey, make me yours . . .”

She tugged, pushing his slacks down, letting her fingers find the hot pulsing shaft surging up between her palms. "H-hot--" she muttered feeling the burn of his flesh, the ache of her hard nipples as she stood swaying, caressing his cock.  
Grissom's breathing rasped against her cheek. "Hot--" he agreed thickly. "I love it when you touch me Sara."

He guided her down onto the bed, the combined weight making the mattress creak under them, but Sara was utterly caught up in the muscled heat of their bodies pressing together, thighs and hips and stomachs. Not seeing, only FEELING Grissom was a heady experience and her fingers were flying everywhere, touching as much of him as she could while she cataloged his body.

Soft tangles of curls at his nape, the warm heavy weight of him pressing down on her, his skin scented of clean musk and ardent arousal. The scrape of his faint whiskers against her cheek, the heat of his breath on her shoulder.

"Naked in my bed, oh so sweeeeet, Sara," Grissom sighed, one hand cupping her chin, turning her face as he lay next to her. His tongue flicked out along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance and she moaned. Sara kissed him eagerly, delighted to taste the silver-sweet flavor of his mouth. Her hips wriggled.

"Mmmmm--" carefully Grissom cupped her face in his hands; she felt the weight of his stare.

"What can you see, honey?"

"Nothing," she admitted with a low helpless laugh.  
She heard him sigh happily. "I can see YOU. No panties on, nothing but satin skin and big hard nipples . . .”

She gasped as his mouth dropped onto one, his mouth slick as porcelain and hotter than a furnace. Arching, Sara slid her arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him as he suckled one nipple, then the other, his tongue a silken rasp on tender flesh.

"God I want you so much, Sara. I want to slide into that lovely slick clench of your body, feel it grip my cock while you make me moan . . .”

Sara fiercely clutched him, her nails digging into his shoulders. He laughed.

"Too much bad language?"

"Damn it Gil Grissom! I am going to ride you like a rollercoaster,” Sara growled in a hot squeak, "One slow fucking incline at a time."

He tensed in her arms, her words delighting him and she took advantage of the moment. Sara snaked a long leg around him and pulled, using her leverage to shift his bigger body under hers. Grissom went willingly, a chuckle warming her ear. She slid herself on top of him, enjoying the sensation; Grissom was a big man, solid and stocky under her fingers. Sara touched the thick silky tufts of hair under his arms, let her fingers sliding across his chest, pausing over the strong beat of his heart.

"God, it's like a continental shelf," she blurted, and he DID laugh at that, one big hand sliding down her shoulder.

"If that's a comment about middle-aged spread--" Sara lunged to shut him up with a kiss.  
Quietly she whispered, "I'm seeing you through my hands, lover--It's so different. I never actually realized how big you are, how strong."

His palms glided down the back of her ribs, coming to grip her ass in a tight possessive clench. "And you have NO idea how long I have broodingly lusted for this peach of your ass. One of your dangerous charms."

"Dangerous?"

"I caught Greg eyeing it once when you leaned over a counter and took appropriate action,” his fingers tightened and Sara moaned, rubbing shamelessly against him. Under her, his cock throbbed against her pubic bone.

"A-action?"

"Three hour mandatory seminar on sexual harassment in the workplace."

"For looking at my ASS?" shocked and delighted, Sara raised her blindfolded face to him, feeling him flex hard against her fur.

"Yes it was petty and jealous and I'd do it again in a moment, Sara. Newsflash--Gil Grissom does not Share Well with Others," he admitted bleakly.

Sara pursed her mouth and tipped her head to one side, unaware of the beautiful picture she presented to him when she did so.

"You know--I don't either,” came her sultry whisper. He sighed at that, pulling her forward and into a kiss of questing sweetness, enfolding her in his arms. Sara shifted, rubbing herself along the ridge of his cock, letting herself writhe a little and feeling a surge of delight at his low groaning.

"Damn it Sara--" he warned her, his voice shaking a little. She purred, rising up, bracing her hands on his chest, proud of her sense of power.

"I WANT you this way--can I have you, Gris?" she sighed.  
His hands slid up her long thighs. "Yessss--" he growled, his hips bucking her up as he pushed himself against her.  
She lightly tapped his chest."We need something--”

"Here--" Sara felt the little plastic packet thrust into her fingers and laughed again.

"Ohh a challenge! Think I can get you sheathed with my eyes closed?"

"I'm COUNTING on it,” Grissom snapped impatiently. Sara tore open the packet and fingered the thin latex. She rose up on her knees and tilted her head as she brought her hands around her slender spine. 

"Blindfolded AND behind my back," came her brag. Grissom groaned loudly as her fingers slid the condom on; he gripped her ass and lifted.

"Amazing--here, let me show you my—appreciation,” Grissom rasped as he slid her down onto his thick shaft. Sara lifted her head and a low happy howl rose out of her slender throat. She quickly braced her hands on Grissom's chest, her entire body thrumming with pleasure as she impaled herself on him, savoring the magnificent FULLNESS stretching her from within.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," Grissom groaned, thrusting up, surging hard against the counter rhythm Sara made as she bounced on him, little chuffs of delight echoing in the room. She wiggled a little, losing herself in long moments dedicated to the luscious tug and tension, hearing the lovely slick sounds of their bodies striving into each other.

"Oh Goddddd . . .” Sara gasped, feeling the hot spiral of erotic tension tighten relentlessly through her muscles. Her fingers scrabbled on his chest, seeking purchase, trying to hold on as her body rocked harder.

"Sara I can see us in the mirror,” Grissom hoarsely whispered, "Naked and wild--honey, you're going to make me come so hard!”

And that did it; Sara shuddered, fingers digging into the damp skin under her hands as the fiery weightlessness of her orgasm rolled through her slender frame, squeezing the air from her lungs and leaving her utterly dazed.

"SaraSaraSARA!!!"

She slumped a little, and dimly felt her hips gripped hard, felt the powerful deep throbs of Grissom's cock thrumming deep within her, each one like the gift of his heartbeat.

She dropped onto his chest and into that twilight consciousness, the wash of afterglow welcome after such exquisite focus. Softly, one of Grissom's hands came up and tugged on the stocking, but Sara shook her head no, and contentedly drifted off into that deep sleep of utter satiation.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 

She woke up alone. Muzzily, Sara peeled the blindfold off and blinked into the darkness, trying to figure out the time. She patted the bed but it was still empty although the sheets were still warm.

"Grissom?"

"Kitchen. Intercourse gives me an appetite,” came the cheerful call. Rolling her eyes, Sara stretched and flexed, feeling a tiny bit sore but oh so sated. She slid out of bed and reached for the first item of clothing her fingers could find in the dark; judging by the feel of it, Grissom's shirt. Swiftly she tugged it around her and padded out towards the faint light coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Grissom was there, his back leaning against the counter wearing his glasses, an ancient grey sweatshirt and his boxers, cheerfully digging into a plastic tub of sour cream dip with a tortilla chip. He offered her the bag, and Sara took it, scooting closer to him as she crunched on a few.

"I bought soups and canned vegetables and crackers but forgot plates or bowls," he confessed, staring into the dip with embarrassment.

Sara laughed. "We can always pick some up--this is Vegas, things are open twenty four hours, you know. What I'm more concerned about is clothing, to be honest. I've got some clean underthings, but everything else is sort of . . .”

"Permeated with the scent of lust?" he waggled his eyebrows and sucked in his cheeks, trying to look innocent, but Sara swatted his arm lightly.

"I'm serious--I've washed my lingerie in a sink before, but two day old slacks are just--grungy. Didn't your aunt have a washer and dryer?"

"Yep--had them in the garage. I'd have to hook them up again--" he paused, cocking his head to look at her, "if--?"

"If--?" she echoed back uncertainly, nibbling on a chip.

Grissom stared at her and she could see him weighing his words carefully."If it's something we're going to need. If Casa Caliente here going to be more than a single weekend for us," he finished heavily. Startled at his somber tone, Sara set the chips down and looked down at their feet.

Both of them were standing on the brick floor barefoot, and she was fascinated with how well formed and strong Grissom's feet were, the tarsals and metatarsals clearly delineated against his pale skin. There was a slight inward turn to his left foot, and she carefully lifted one of her own to caress it with her toes. Grissom watched her.

"The only aspect of my life with which I've been patient is YOU, Grissom. I've waited and watched and bided my time and EVERY gain I've ever made in regard to you has been worth it so far," she murmured, letting her arch slid along his ankle, caressing it.

A small smile touched his mouth briefly. "I never claimed to be the swiftest man on the uptake, Sara. I STILL have a few qualms.”

"Me too," she admitted, biting her lower lip as she moved to lean against him. He slid an arm around her and pressed his temple to hers.

"Relationships don't work for me, generally. In thirty years I've had a grand total of three, and ALL of them blew up in my face," he confessed in a bleak voice, not daring to meet her eyes. Sara said nothing, but her foot continued to caress his ankle soothingly. Grissom gave a heavy sigh. They stayed that way in a comforting huddle against the counter for a while, and gradually Sara shifted, running her lips along his cheek.

"You ought to grow a beard. You'd look HOT in one,” she whispered.

Grissom snorted. "I'd look like Ernest Hemingway.”

"Nothing wrong with that--he was macho.”

"Sara, he wrote about impotence and failed relationships and ended up committing suicide--not exactly a role model here."

She laughed and stroked the side of Grissom's face, tipping it until he could look in her eyes, see the glint of humor in their velvety depths. "Don't pout, Gris--you have NO idea how sexy that is.”

"Really?" he considered this and brightened, his arms sliding in a loosely possessive grip around her waist.

Sara nodded, mashing her nose on his playfully. "Just--consider the scruff, okay? And as for--what did you call it--Casa Caliente? Well--I'm open to negotiation. I can see what you're trying to do: it's not my turf or your turf, it's--neutral. We both have a stake in it."

"That was the idea," he admitted cautiously, "Although you can always say . . .”

She laid a gentle hand on his lips. "No? That's the point, Gil Grissom. Maybe YOU can, but I can't SAY no, or stop, even though there are moments when whole idea terrifies me."

"Bad?" he asked in a rough whisper around her fingers.

She shrugged her elegant shoulders, letting her hand drop again. "I considered bailing while you were out--" came her confession, reluctant and slow. "I just got overwhelmed with everything--knowing this place was out of your past and you were choosing to share it with me, and wondering if it was a mistake to impose . . .”

Now it was his turn; he cupped her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. "I made the offer, so it's not an imposition, Sara. This house was a dear memory and an obligation to someone I loved. I couldn't let it go, even though time and time again I considered it. But WITH you . . .” he trailed away uncertainly, looking to see if his words made any sense to her.

Sara was staring at him with that laser intensity he loved, the quivering comprehension that transcended communication between them sometimes. "We'd be living a secret life. A weekend life," she breathed.

"Yes--" he agreed softly, "An arrangement between the two of us, just FOR the two of us."

And Sara smiled, a glowing look so passionate it made Grissom's chest ache at the very sight of it. "Can't think of anything I'd want more."

*** *** ***

It seemed perfectly natural to unpack boxes and set up furniture at four in the morning. Sara found memory after memory coming to light as she methodically sliced open cartons and examined the contents. Amused, Grissom followed her suggestions, letting her gloat in the chance to order him about, albeit with a light tone.

"Towels. You have a serious towel addiction Sara; this is the third box filled with them. Did you think there wouldn't BE any in Las Vegas?" he grumbled.

She worked her jaw back and forth, then gave up, shrugging. "Gifts--you have NO idea how many bridesmaids gifts and company gifts I got hit with over the years. Besides, towels are useful."

"So are bottle openers and cheese graters, but three boxes full of them would still be excessive--" he chided, setting the carton by the bathroom. When he came back, Sara was lifting a huge ceramic disc out of a box, wiping it with her hand.

"Wow--I haven't seen this in ages. One of the first things I bought in San Francisco when I got my own place.”

Grissom looked down at the porcelain wall hanging, his eyebrows going up as he recognized the design. "Yin and Yang, white and black, male and female energy in the eternal balance of life. Prophetic, actually."

Sara held it up with the two sides on the vertical position; when Grissom took it, he shifted it to horizontal, white over black.

"Subtle,” Sara chuckled in a chiding tone.

He lifted his chin but his eyes were twinkling. "I make no apology."

"I understand that, buuuut . . .” Sara narrowed her glance up at him, a laughing lazy challenge in her eyes. Grissom raised one eyebrow in a lofty response. She loved the way he looked at that moment: utterly masculine and almost arrogant about it, sure of his strength and cunning and status in their relationship.

"In time,” he drawled slowly, "I may consider other positions--considering you're parading around wearing nothing but my shirt at the moment.”

Sara nodded, satisfied for the moment and not in any real hurry to push the matter. Instead, she turned her attention back to the box and pulled out a string of Christmas lights.

"Now I remember--this is all stuff from my front hall closet," she muttered, perplexed. Grissom wasn't paying attention; he had hung the Yin Yang piece over the fireplace where adding unexpected elegance to the room. He stepped back, satisfied with the way it looked. Grissom peeked up the fireplace.

"Flue's clear--would you like a fire?"

Sara looked up from her packing and nodded.

Within an hour, Grissom had managed to get some large chunks of dried oak ignited, using ancient scouting skills and Sara's lighter. Sara looked around, pleased to see that her furniture seemed to fit the room rather nicely. Her tastes ran to natural woods and fibers; consequently her two sage overstuffed sofas blended in well, and the thick gold and white carpet filled the space between them and the fireplace.

She sat with Grissom on one sofa, each of them at opposite ends, their legs entangled companionably in the middle. Sara fingered the little packet she had hidden in her palm and listened to his voice, low and earnest while he read aloud from the little battered book in his hands.

Give me, my love, that billing kiss  
I taught you one delicious night,  
When, turning epicures in bliss,  
We tried inventions of delight -

Grissom intoned, looking over the top of his glasses at her, checking the effect of his reading. Sara slid her long bare legs along his and sighed. He continued.

Come, gently steal my lips along,  
And let your lips in murmurs move, -  
Ah, no! - again - that kiss was wrong -  
How can you be so dull, my love?

"Never dull--maybe a little clueless,” She pointed out honestly. He shot her a quelling look, and Sara batted her eyes, not at ALL contritely.

Grissom paused.

"That spanking option is starting to sound good to me,” he warned. Sara blew a raspberry and waved at the book. With a lofty glance at her, Grissom continued.

'Cease, cease!' the blushing girl replies -  
And in her milky arms she caught me -  
'How can you thus your pupil chide;  
You know' twas in the dark you taught me!'

Sara laughed throatily appreciating the tender truth in that last line. Certainly Grissom HAD taught her a lot in the dark--shifting, she let her leg stretch out to touch his nose; he lightly caught her by the heel and ever so gently bit the ball of her foot.

In helpless response, Sara gasped and Grissom gave a slow almost predatory nod, setting the volume of poetry down on the carpet.

"Note to self. Sara's feet are ticklish,” he gripped her ankle in one hand and ran the pad of his thumb along her warm instep. Sara clutched one of the pillows, muffling her reaction into its fluffy depths. Intrigued, Grissom carefully kissed her toes, this time nipping the tender undersides of them. More moaning from Sara; he felt her long legs quiver.

"Too much?"

"Intense,” Sara squeaked up from the pillow, her cheeks red but her eyes bright. "My feet have always been sensitive.”

Grissom rested her heels on his chest and let his strong fingers play over her slender ankles and up her shapely calves. "Runner's legs. Dancer's legs--" he observed, stroking gently.

Sara shuddered pleasurably, and propped her chin in her hand as she flexed her toes. "In high school I towered over eighty percent of my graduating class. Skyscraper Sara--I think a few of them even signed my yearbook that way."

Grissom looked at her, his glance as tender as a caress. An empathetic smile curled at the corners of his mouth and he lifted one foot to kiss it again, the heat of his lips pressing against her instep. Sara felt it all the way up between her thighs.

"Sometimes when you come striding in to the lab I watch you, Sara. You sail in, head high, with this swing to your hips that's as tempting as dragging a piece of yarn in front of a cat. And part of that irresistibility is your height. You have what my mother would have called queenly bearing."

Sara blinked. To hide her embarrassed pleasure, she let her free foot lightly caress his hip, working inward.

He smiled, feeling it but not looking down, still holding one ankle. "Right now I can see all the way up these legs--" came his quiet taunt.

Sara lifted her chin, staring at him, letting the long moment between them heat up as the fire crackled.

"Going do something about it?" she offered. Grissom blinked behind his glasses while Sara felt his erection swell with flattering swiftness under her calves. He tilted his head and she caught the flare of desire reflecting in his eyes.

"Oh yesssss," came his low assurance; suddenly Sara felt uneasy. A flush prickled over her skin. Grissom sat up, pushing her feet aside and cupped her chin in his two hands to tilt her face to his. "Sara?"

"I'm okay, I'm fine--" she rushed to assure him, mortified that her panic had showed, but Grissom waited her out.

Sara didn't meet his eyes. "Sorry. Just has a little spaz-out there."

"Over what?" Grissom demanded gently. Sara finally looked at him, her words coming in a long rush.

"I've wanted this so long, Gris. I still can't believe it's happening, and I'm terrified that at any moment it will all just get--taken away from me. That you'll decide this weekend was all a terrible mistake and you want to go back to the status quo . . .”

Grissom slowly shook his head while his thumbs stroked her lower lip, teasing it. "I've wrestled with myself over you for the past thousand days. That's over three years, Sara and I can't win. You got under my defenses from day one, and I've never gotten my balance back from that. I tried to distance myself, tried to let you make a life with other men and couldn't. Ultimately I had to face up to the simple fact that I loved you."

Sara's pretty lips twitched; he kissed her softly and continued. "There I was--just a middle-aged slightly kinky entomologist mooning away for a brilliant beautiful physicist and by the time I KNEW that, I was at a complete loss on how to tell you, so it wasn't until we were buried that I understood how little I had left to lose, honey."

"Triggered by crisis?" Sara quavered, smiling a bit.

Grissom nodded. "It seems most of the events of my private life are," he sighed. "The point is, I'm here, and I'm yours."

"Don't you mean I'M yours?" she teased, turning her face enough to lick his thumb.

He gave a lazy hot-eyed smile. "Yes. But I'm going to make it real for you Sara.” He shifted to the carpet in front of the fire, which had died to low flames reflecting dully on the brick. Grissom pulled Sara into his arms and held her close, tugging the shirt open so they were chest to chest. He gently cradled her head against his bare pale shoulder.

"Sara . . .”

She looked up. The firelight left half of Grissom's face in shadow, making him warm and mysterious all at the same time. "I want you to bite me."

"What?" she looked up with a confused grin, certain she misheard him.

He cocked his head. "Right here, on the deltoid. I want you to sink your teeth in hard enough to make a good impression."

Sara's eyes widened; she jerked her head up, cheeks flushed. "You're kidding! You HAVE to be—Grissom!”

"There are places and times to behave in a polite manner, Sara, and others where we need to remember that under our veneers of civilized behavior we're animals at heart."

Sara's eyes dropped from his face to his shoulder. The warm curve of his muscles looked heavy in the light of the fire, and she briefly licked her lip.

Grissom laughed, a low masculine sound that made her shiver. "Many animals bite when making love. Mammals are noted for it, sweetheart--" he nuzzled the side of her face, breath hot in her ear.

Sara squirmed. "I'm not going to HURT you just to prove some point about the two of us being an item, Gris! That's not what this is about!"

"Isn't it?" he insisted, and Sara drew in a shaky breath, astounded. Part of her, a shameful wild part yearned to bite him, wanted to press her teeth into that warm flesh and nip it hard. Instead, she pressed her mouth into a thin line.

"It's not right--"

"Not if I wasn't consenting. But this is as much for me as it is for you, Sara. I want to carry part of you with me, as long as I can. Your scent will wash away, and I'll lose the taste of your mouth, but if you mark me--I'll have it and remember," he sighed roughly, rubbing his cheek against hers. They swayed against each other, and Sara felt her hard nipples rub against his bare chest.

"It's not--not that I don't--want to . . .” she finally murmured, risking a lick along his shoulder, tasting his salt.

His hands slid down her back and he pulled her closer. "I want your mark, Sara. If you do this, you'll understand that I mean what I say. Please . . .”

His fingers wove into her hair, and Sara loved the feel of that; his gentle but insistent tug. She sighed, and with a slow graceful plunge, opened her mouth and set her teeth against his warm skin.

It was tougher than she realized; for all his deskwork and maturity, Grissom was a solid man. She tightened her jaws.

He gave a moan of satisfaction. "You can do better," he chided, and Sara growled a little. She felt hot, and feral; the taste of his skin made her hungry. She pushed forward, her arms coming up and around his back, clinging as she worried her teeth against him.

Grissom laughed. "Getting over your vegetarian objections, honey?"

That did it. Laughing, she broke away wetly and kissed up the side of his throat, tackling his mouth with aggressive joy, tumbling with him as Grissom held her and whispered deliciously filthy things. Sara came back to his shoulder time and time again, making her ring of teethmarks deeper with every nip. Grissom kissed and caressed and toyed with her ruthlessly, finally licking her bare spine in the faint glow of the embers now, stretching out across her nude back and chewing lightly on her ear.

"I want you Sara--I want you THIS way,” he warned. She turned her head to look at him, her hair tousled and her eyes dark with lust.

She laughed."Bitch I may be, but I refuse to bark.”

"But I might howl,” he shot back, nudging her knees apart and rubbing the backs of her thighs. Sara rose up on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at him. He scooped up the condom packet from where she had dropped it and shakily sheathed himself. Sara laughed. She felt hot and cold all at once, teetering on the edge of sweet anticipation.

"Oh my . . .” she reached down between her thighs and gently guided him. Grissom stroked his hands down her back and then slid his fingers around the sleek bones of her hips gripping them tightly as his thick eager cock nudged forward into her heat.

"God, I can't believe after hundreds of fantasies about having you this way,” he gasped. Sara gripped the carpet and with a small grin, suddenly pushed herself backwards onto him. Grissom grunted with helpless pleasure; Sara echoed it as he filled her completely.

"Sssssssara--!" he withdrew, a slow powerful stroke that made Sara quiver. She felt THAT and no mistake. Grissom's hands pulled her back again and she gasped happily. He stroked forward, each thrust deliberate and strong; his hands tightened on her hips.

"OhgodsoosweetSarasoslickoohhhh . . .” he gasped, his furred thighs rubbing against the back of hers, his tempo increasing. Sara barely heard him over the pounding of her pulse and the lightning pulses of raw pleasure panging low in her belly. She writhed, earning a groan from her lover, who shifted his hands to brace across the span of her lower back.

"I don't want--to hurt you,” he groaned, and Sara realized Grissom was holding back.

Looking over her shoulder, she playfully snarled at him. "I want--YOUR mark--!" she gasped. He stretch out over her spine, and the hot weight of his damp chest against her skin along with his powerful thrusts were enough to send Sara skittering over the edge. She arched her long back and tensed against him, sobbing with pleasured release as he rode her orgasm.

"OhHoneyloveyouSaracomeI'mcoming--” he hoarsely growled, his thrusts uncontrolled and powerful enough to rock them both forward under the sheer drive of his lust. Grissom dropped onto her heavily, catching his weight on his palms and swayed over her, pressing kisses onto her nape as they both trembled from far more than just the lovemaking.

"Lie on me," Sara urged in a low shaky whisper, "I need to FEEL you there.”

And Grissom understood that completely.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The late afternoon droned on. When Grissom woke up, he found he was in bed on his back, (which was usual for him), and lovingly entangled by Sara Sidle's long arms and legs (which was not) as she rested her cheek against his collarbone.

Grissom sighed. Other than a nagging need to take a leak, he felt that his world was fairly perfect in this tiny moment in time. His libido was now properly focused through the object of his desire and although it still felt new to wake up with Sara in his arms instead of merely in his thoughts it was something he could get used to.

She sleepily slid a leg over his, nudging his half-stiffened cock and Grissom smiled to himself.

Definitely could get used to this.

Unfortunately even the slight pressure of her leg was enough to annoy his bladder, and with a sigh of regret he slipped out of her slumbering embrace, lumbering off to the bathroom. Once there, he relieved himself and rinsed his hands under the faucet, staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

Ugh.

His hair was tangled, his bristles were at that potential Wino stage and Grissom sensed his breath was probably less than hospitable. He couldn't deny that he was smirking, however and he looked from the reflection of the bite mark on his shoulder to the real thing with a sense of deep satisfaction.

There it was--

Evidence.

Grissom stared at it.

Sweet testimony to a particularly intimate trust. He ran a finger over the oval of dents, shivering a little at the hint of pleasurable pain it brought; Sara had not drawn blood--

This time.

Still, the circle of small bruises pleased him enormously, and he splashed water on his face, smirk blooming into a soft smile. Sara was strong, and given the right sort of encouragement and freedom, more than capable of testing a boundary or two.

Yes.

"Hey,” breaking into his thoughts, she lounged against the doorway clutching a towel loosely around herself. Grissom turned from the sink to see her gaze drop from his face down to his.

"Hey!" Slightly nonplussed, he reached for a towel of his own while Sara merely grinned.

"Oh come on--this is the first time I've had a chance to get a good look at you,” she strode over to him, reaching for his towel. Grissom hung onto it; they ended up in a mild tug of war until Sara kissed his nose. Triumphantly she let both towels drop, but Grissom was too quick, snagging her instead, yanking her body against his. 

Sara protested albeit through a laugh. "Why isn't anything simple with you? All I wanted was a look.”

"Because my nudity is not savory sight, particularly in the light of day,” he grumbled, keeping her pressed up against him. Sara peeked around him and into the mirror, savoring the image of the two of them entwined and naked.

"I like what I'm looking at enough to keep sleeping with it,” she offered.

Grissom snorted against her neck. "Which makes me lucky and you naïve, Sara.”

"Which makes ME lucky and you amazingly generous," came her firm correction. She ran her fingers through the thick hair at his nape and nuzzled his scratchy cheek, sighing happily. Impulsively Grissom tightened his grip and lifted her off her feet, Sara wrapped her legs around him, clinging tightly.

"Good morning, by the way,” she chuckled. Grissom gave a happy growl and let her bare bottom drop on the rim of the cold porcelain sink. 

She squealed. "Hey!"

"Agenda for the day--grocery store, mall, hardware store, dinner,” he rattled off. 

Sara shook her head. "Wrong order--Mall, hardware store, dinner, grocery store. See, I need clothes first, Gris. If we eat before we shop for food we won't be making choices driven by hunger, and if the groceries are last then they won't be melting in the car all afternoon--we can bring them straight back without making any other trips."

Grissom blinked. Sara grinned.

"Stunned by my flawless logic?"

"Actually, yes."

"Get used to it,” came her tease.

*** *** ***

The El Dorado mall was fair-sized, with the usual assortment of shoe stores, food vendors and other merchants of instant culture. Sara studied the information kiosk as Grissom peered over her shoulder, hands in his pockets.

"Maybe I should have just gone home and packed--" she murmured.

He shook his head. "No. Spontaneity is something both of us need practice in, Sara."

She nodded, and then touched a labeled shop on the map gently.

"Heathmoors. I can get what I need there. It's right on the upper level, between the bookstore and . . .”

"Victoria's Secret," Grissom observed with a perfectly straight face.

Sara glanced over her shoulder at him. "You'll be in the bookstore, right?"

He didn't answer, his eyes twinkling, and she tried to glare, but the twist of her lips made it hard.

"Right?" she persisted. Before she could extract any commitment from him, a stroller banged into her hip and she looked up to see a harried young mother chiding her daughter.

"Kellie! You ran Petey's stroller into someone--say sorry to the lady!”

"Oh it's all right,” Sara murmured, moving away. Grissom gently cupped her elbow and steered her around the kiosk to the escalator.

Sara rubbed her hip as they rode up the stairs. "I notice you haven't exactly stated YOUR purpose on this trip.”

"Oh mine are myriad and many--general observation of the human condition being foremost."

"Un huh. Well you'll just have to find some way to occupy your time while I pick a few things since I'm well aware that most men have an anti-clothes shopping gene as part of their DNA."

Grissom looked both amused and insulted by this assessment; he walked with her for a moment before replying. "Shopping is a necessary evil, Sara. I don't have a problem with shopping; I have a problem with taking hours to make decisions about it. You shop to fill a need--the need is already obvious, so the first items that fill it ought to make the choice easy."

"Ah, but the consequences of those choices are farther reaching than the immediate moment," she countered brightly. "To wit--will this item work with others already in my wardrobe? Is it washable? Does it fit? Will it cause problems with shedding or binding or snagging? Given the work we do--what with all the crawling, climbing and wading that are an intrinsic part of evidence collection--the demands on a CSI's wardrobe can be staggering, Gris."

He shot her a keen look, a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth as they reached Heathmoor's. Sara squared her shoulders and glanced at her watch. "Give me forty minutes, tops. I'll meet you right out here?"

He nodded. She disappeared into the depths of the shop, closing in on a sale rack like a shark following a blood trail, leaving Grissom to look right and left as he pondered his next move.

On the right, the temptation caught his eye--sleek and enticing window displays making thoughts of getting between the covers very seductive--

But then Barnes and Noble always affected him that way. He pondered the chances of finding the new biography of Jean Henri Fabre, but then glanced to the left, and all thoughts of entomology evaporated from his brain as he caught sight of the window dressing for Victoria's Secret.

He strode left.

When Sara emerged from Heathmoor's forty minutes later she was amused to find Grissom on the bench with a bag at his side. He was engrossed in a thick hardback book and briefly glanced up at her. "Success?"

"More than passing, thank you,” she spun, making him realize that her outfit was different from the one she'd worn in. He nodded, approving of the grey slacks and thin mauve sweater set she now sported. Sara had added a chunky necklace of green and white quartz as well, and she fingered it as he rose up and smiled.

"You look good," came his quiet assurance.   
Preening for a moment, Sara smiled and glanced down at the book. "The life of Jean Henry Fabre?"

"It was reviewed well in the Quarterly Journal of Entomology," he shrugged, tucking the book into the bag. Sara caught his wrist as she caught sight of another bag within the bookstore one.

"Grissom . . .”

"Ah--that surprise is not for now,” he warned in a light tone. She pursed up her mouth, intensely curious but unwilling to admit it. He dropped the book in and smiled at her, "Next stop, Home Depot."

At the hardware supply store he picked up circuit breakers, new door locks and smoke detectors while Sara looked at fireplace tools and doormats. Grissom argued quality while Sara argued price, and at some point in the heated discussion he caught her eyes and felt a flare of sweet heat hit his stomach hard. She must have sensed it with that amazing intuition because she suddenly sent her fingers up to stroke his cheek.

"Can we reach an agreement?" she smiled.  
He flexed his jaw against her touch, eyes locking on hers. "I'm willing to concede on fireplace pokers; there's only room I won't compromise on or in,” he warned her in a low husky whisper.

She blinked, rapidly and lowered her eyes. "Sounds pretty win-win to me.”

He'd wanted to kiss her then, sweep her into his arms and tongue her mouth good and proper right there in the aisle of Home Depot, but common sense held him back.

They had dinner at a Mongolian Barbeque, each of them handling chopsticks well as they watched the other patrons and took turns guessing their occupations. Sara won two rounds, identifying a nurse by her shoes and a teacher by her Volvo keys and a stray 'good Job!' sticker on the sleeve of her sweater. Grissom made up for it by discerning a retired doctor, a carpet layer and a paperboy ("newsprint ink--see how it's permeated the webbing of his right hand? He's been tossing papers for over a year to get that way")

By the time they walked into the grocery store, both of them were a little restless, and more than anxious to get back. Sara moved methodically down the aisles, plucking items and tossing them in the cart. Grissom moved ahead and back, like a scout for a wagon train, adding his own items to the cart.

"Hornet spray?" perplexed, Sara looked up at Grissom, who gave a slow nod.

"There's a small nest on the back side of the garage. I don't want you to get stung."

"I don't need to go to in back of the garage anyway--we don't need to KILL anything.”

"I'm used to them, Sara, you're not--they're an excessively aggressive species.”

Sara was about to counter his argument when a vaguely familiar figure turned the corner of the aisle, basket on his arm, engrossed in a magazine. She gave a wave to Grissom and ducked around the corner, out of sight, but still close enough to hear Archie's cheerful greeting.

"Hey Doctor Grissom!"

"Archie,” she heard Grissom's cool response, "What brings you here?"

"Cat food. My mom's got these buy two get two free coupons for Whisker Treats, but our local store won't let her redeem more than three of them at a time, so every couple of weeks I have to head out here to the sticks to use the rest of them.”

"I see--Liver Lumps? Tuna Toes? Beefy Backsides? This stuff sounds unappetizing.”

"Tell me about it, but Fogerty and Mellencamp won't eat anything else and if you've ever had two fifteen pound monsters yowling in your ear to wake you up--let's just say it's worth the drive out here once in a while. See you at the lab.”

She waited, hearing the cart turn the corner and looking up to see a pair of very amused blue eyes as Grissom leaned his forearms on the cart and studied at her. "Risks," he murmured.

"Dangers," Sara acknowledged.

"Gambles," Grissom mused.

"Condoms.”

"Excuse me?"

She used her chin to point at the display on the other side of the aisle where colorful boxes hung in gaudy rows, each hyping their particular charms. Grissom's mouth twisted in a wry grin. "Sara, not even for YOU will I wear a Pina Colada prophylactic,” he chided.

And she laughed, gripping the basket rim of the cart, feeling the spike of adrenaline in her stomach mingling with hot lust. Grissom hrrumphed and arched an eyebrow, which only made her laugh harder although she tried to compose herself.

"H-honestly, we didn't talk much about this. Are condoms okay with you?" she asked, moving closer to him, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"With a failure rate of between eight and ten percent a year they're acceptable for the moment, but eventually we may want something with better statistics," he intoned seriously.

Sara let her fingers tighten around the wire of the cart. "I was on the Pill a while back--I can renew the prescription pretty easily.”

Grissom laid a hand over hers, his heat seeping through her cooler fingers. "In time. I like being part of the process through. I like the anticipation, the element of play to them. I even like . . .” he hesitated, but Sara jumped in.

"The risk, small as it is," she nodded, understanding. "Which is maybe a little strange because we're both so good about avoiding anything like that in other parts of our lives, but yeah. I know what you mean."

She looked up to see a smoldering heat in his eyes, a look tinged with sadness. "Games of love and duty, Sara--I don't plan on being a father. I wouldn't know how."

She nodded. "Well given the state of our lives at the moment I think it's fair to say I'm not aware of any biological clock cramping my style. I have what I want with you, Grissom.” She assured him, feeling light relief in her chest.

*** *** ***

The house was big enough for the two of them to move around and not be underfoot all the time.

As Sara fussed with stocking the kitchen, listening to pounding coming from the garage. She knew Grissom was hooking up the washer and dryer, and had been out there a while, taking his time and his distance. She understood; privacy was a way of life for her too, and she while she loved his company, it was refreshing to stand alone in a kitchen and savor the peace. She pulled open the freeze and bit back a hard gasp at the sight of a frozen Komodo Dragon, twisted in the rictus of lizard death on the thick permafrost. Quickly she slammed the door shut and caught her breath.

She put away everything else, and left the frozen goods on the counter for a moment, stepping out to the garage.

Grissom was wiping his hands absently on his thighs, looking into an ancient toolbox. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Nearly done.”

"Grissom, why do you have a dead animal in your freezer?" she asked with a straight face.

He blinked and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "The lizard. Damn, I thought I'd finished with him--he died three days after he was shipped and I wanted to do an autopsy but got a little rushed, so I froze him until I could get back to him. Is he taking up too much space?" Grissom cocked his head.

Sara bit her lip. "No--no, there's room if I pack the frozen peas and ice cream around him,” she responded weakly, not knowing whether to laugh or not. 

Grissom nodded. "I'll take him back with me tomorrow.”

"Gris--is this going to be one of those common things around here?"

He looked wary and shifted his feet a little. "Possibly. I was considering setting up a few--habitats--that I didn't have room for back in town. Self sustaining ones,” he rushed to assure her, but Sara closed her eyes and gave in to the smile that she'd been holding back.

"Habitats--you mean bugs, don't you?"

"Insects," he corrected with a hint of asperity.  
Sara snorted. "Insects--ant farms?"

"Just one,” he grinned, "But it's a really BIG one.”

"Your house," she sighed. Grissom drew in a breath and reached out a hand to her chin, tilting it up. He shook his head, letting his thumb stroke her lower lip lightly.

"Equal say, equal play, equal stay,” he intoned. "Even equal nay. If you don't want the insects here I can simply keep them at the townhouse."

"Equal lay?" she pushed, feeling a tingle pulsing through her. The look in his eyes was like the slow hot stroke of his hand between her thighs.

"No, Sweet Sara. I'm very selfish that way."

"What?" Confused, she stepped closer; he slid a hand, dirty and dusty under her sweater, cupping a breast with slow seductive ease.

"I need a bath. I want you in it with me," he roughly purred. Dazed, she nodded without even having to think of it and Grissom smiled sweetly. With a light tweak to her nipple, he slid his hand out again.

"Run it as hot as you can stand. Bring the bottle of wine. Three minutes, Sara,”

Spinning her by the shoulders, he gave her a light push towards the door, watching her go and feeling shameless hunger rising up between his thighs at the sight of her flustering off, her magnificent ass a joy to behold.

Games with Sara.

Yes.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The tub was big, made back in an era when quality was a matter of depth, and durability was still a virtue. Sara never realized how tubs had changed over the years--there was no way she and Grissom would have ever fit in the rinky fiberglass one back at her condo. Not comfortably anyway. Someone would have been pressed against the faucet or had feet angled out . . . .

But here--she settled back against the wall of Grissom's chest with a happy sigh. The waterline covered the both of them easily, and she luxuriated in the light floating sensation. Grissom kept one arm loosely about her waist as he rested against the slightly sloping back of the tub and echoed her sigh.

"This bathtub came all the way from Sheffield England. My aunt Doreen bought it in an auction while she was touring there and had it shipped back here. It took almost half a year to arrive, she told me."

"That must have been expensive.”

"No, just time consuming. When I first came to stay with her in sixty-six I was little enough to swim in it."

Sara grinned at the image. She turned to look at him. "What did you look like, as a kid?"

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle and reached for the glass of wine sitting on the tray that spanned rim of the tub near their feet.

"At ten, I was a skinny glasses-wearing nerd with hair as wiry as an Airedale's. I wore madras shirts and dungarees and high top sneakers and band-aids. Lots of band-aids."

Sara spluttered with giggles, earning a low growl from Grissom. She took the glass of wine from him and sipped it before handing it back. "Band-aids?"

"From injuries acquired in the field--scraped knees, bug bites, bullies--all the usual childhood terrors." He said it lightly, but Sara sensed a pang of bittersweetness in his voice and nodded.

"Let's see, at ten I was a rail thin intense brat with braids and freckles. I wore rugby shirts and designer jeans and begged my parents to fix my teeth."

"What's wrong with your teeth?" Grissom asked curiously.

She smiled at him. "I could love you for that alone, Doctor Grissom."

He blushed and took a sip of wine to cover it while Sara settled against him again in the hot water.

"I feel like a game. Interested?" she offered, slipping her fingers along his stomach.

He shot her a sideways look."Listening--" he encouraged. 

She lifted her chin. "Truth or Dare."

"Intriguing--how do you play?" he asked patiently, and Sara stared at him a long moment, several emotions flickering in rapid succession across her face as she realized he truly didn't know.

"Ah, okay. It's sort of an interrogation game. I ask you to choose truth or dare. If you choose truth, I ask you a question you must answer. If you choose dare, I issue you a challenge. But you have to choose before I respond."

"What if I don't want to answer the question?" Grissom frowned.

She laughed. "Then you lose your turn and I get to ask again, but not the same question if you take truth. And the dares must be something simple and safe--like singing a song or blowing spit bubbles.”

"So basically humiliating and unsanitary things,” he grumbled, but his expression was wickedly sweet and she knew Grissom was teasing her. She sat up and shifted to face him, long legs wrapping around his hips comfortably as he sat up. She didn't dare let her fingers stray under the water, all too aware of him as it was and her eyes kept focusing on the little ring of bruises on his shoulder.

"Since you're new to it, you go first,” Sara generously offered. 

Grissom smiled. "Truth or Dare, Sara."

"Truth."

"When were you first attracted to me?"

"Ohh ruthless question! About three minutes into your lecture on the importance of the housefly maggot in determining time of death. I'm sure you remember I was in the front row, so when you waved that decaying chicken leg and it . . .” she grinned.

"Slipped out of my hands and into your lap,” Grissom winced at the memory of Sara's beautiful astonished face staring up at him on the stage while the grey and white maggots happily rolled off the decomposing example of Colonel Sander's finest and onto her skirted lap. He'd hopped down and scooped them up again into his latex covered hand, apologizing profusely as the lecture hall broke out in laughs and gasps.

"I liked your hands--they were so gentle with things, even then. My turn--Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," he replied absently as he ran a hand along her thigh under the water. Sara gave a little wriggle of pleasure.

"When did you lose your virginity, Gil Grissom?" she blurted, studying his face as another warm flush crossed it. He drew in a deep breath and looked at her a moment; Sara could see him fighting his intense desire to clam up.

She waited, her eyes soft and luminous and he slowly exhaled, a rusty sound and slowly spoke. "February, nineteen seventy-one. It was a Sunday, in the afternoon," he murmured huskily.

Sara quivered but said nothing, and the silence stretched on. Grissom pursed his mouth and sighed again. "The Magnatis were good friends of my mother's--they had a flower shop next to her gallery and lived a few blocks over. They came over for dinner and played cards with us once in a while. I used to do their lawn. He was thin and tall and had a bad heart. She was elegant and sleek, and had a soft accent. He died. A month after that I went to do the lawn. Mrs. Magnati watched me the entire time."

"Oh."

"She told me I had done a good job, and I should shower before I went home. I didn't think anything of it, and used the guest one downstairs, near the garage. I got in, and after a while, so did Mrs. Magnati."

His expression was wistful and sad, and tinged with a hint of amusement as well. Sara swallowed hard.

"I didn't understand a single word of Italian she said to me, but I DID know what she wanted and needed, so I loved her as best as I could. She was very patient and gentle with me, and looking back I couldn't have asked for a better teacher."

Sara blushed, amazed at his soft, matter of fact honesty. She closed her eyes and heard him chuckle.

"I've never told anyone about that afternoon, Sara, but it did open my eyes to the ways of grief and love and the human heart. Sometimes being used is the right thing."

Sara felt his hands slide along her thighs as he added, "Truth or Dare, Sara Sidle?"

Dare!" she blurted, feeling the need to dodge the return bullet. He laughed, knowing exactly why she'd made her choice.

"Very well--" his voice grew deeper. Sara shivered at that tone.

"Stand up and soap yourself for me, Sara,” he commanded lightly. She looked at his expression, seeing the hot look in his eyes as they glinted blue. Sara felt an answering spark in her own and lifted her chin high.

"Soap myself?"

"Yes. And go slowly, honey. I'm going to watch,” he hissed, reaching for the glass of wine behind her.

Sara drew in a breath. She got to her feet, planting them on either side of his knees and bent over to dip the bar of Ivory into the water, working up a fluffy lather. Grissom gazed at her hands. She straightened up with a lazy smile and brought the soap to her shoulders.

Sliding it over her wet skin, Sara felt the slick soap move over her goose bumps. She lazily scrubbed it down each arm, artistically dragging it back again, leaving a trail of bubbles against her wet skin. Grissom sipped the wine, eyes on her body as it towered over him.

Sara let the soap roll around each high proud breast, using both hands to make patterns across her chest. It felt amazingly good, and the hot pangs of desire just under her skin drove her on. That, and Grissom's intensely brooding gaze. He wet his lips.

She let the bar glide from hand to hand and circled it around her hips, being careful not to drop it. Little saucy passes across her ass; she laughed at herself for that, and then down her flat stomach in a glide so pleasurable she shocked herself.

God, this was her shower routine! Did he know? She hesitated, but Grissom merely smiled at her and settled back. She could see his hand resting hard on his erection, pressing it to his stomach to keep it from bobbing up.

"Oh you're not done yet,” he instructed her hoarsely.

Sara swiped the soap around her navel, moaning a little. Grissom gaze was openly hungry now, hard lust in his eyes, no finesse about what he wanted. She slid the bar down through the wet gossamer between her thighs, the soap foaming through her fur.

Sara gasped, rubbing the bar down the inside of one thigh and then the other, letting it meet the heat there, the mild soap bubbling up against her wet skin. It dropped out of her hands and into the water with a plop, but she let the residue smear across her fingers as she raked both of her hands back through her fur in a slow erotic dance of her fingers.

Grissom groaned.

"Jesus, you're absolutely beautiful Sara! Sleek and hot and damn it I want to fuck you so much,” he admitted through clenched teeth. "NOW."

Moving with amazing speed he rose up and caught her around the waist, tumbling with her over the side of the tub to the new fluffy bath rug by the side of the tub. Sara squealed; pinned under him as Grissom rubbed against her, the soap lathering between their bodies. He grabbed her knees, kissing each one before impatiently pushing them open.

"Rub--Going to stroke you,” he groaned. She watched him kneel between her legs and lay the underside of his thick cock against her slick ruffled folds and push. He glided over her, nudging the hard little button just at the top of her cleft and she twitched, clutching his shoulders, nodding pulling him onto her belly.

Yes, oh yes--

He pumped himself against the cleft of her mound, the searing heat of him making Sara gasp and moan. So hard and hot, God he was so amazingly HOT and each stroke bumped her just right--

His chest rubbed hers, his mouth slid over her face as he licked it, growling with pleasure.

"LoveyouSaranotgoingtoputitinbutWANTtoGodWANTtosomuchbabyUnnhhhhh--"

Blind and hungry for more, MORE, Sara gripped his ass and sank her nails into him as she came, writhing hard against his steel cock and choking out his name.

"Grrrrrisssommmmm!"

A few strokes later, with a growl of sheer animalistic pleasure, Grissom came just as hard, the thick wet pulses of his desire splashing through her soapy fur and between their stomachs, burning through the soap and water.

He rolled off of her, gasping, and they both lay there stunned by the magnificent intensity. Sara shuddered with an aftershock, feeling it all the way to her fingertips. She ran a hand down her stomach and found the smears, but before she could do more than touch them, another hand joined hers. Grissom had a hot wet washcloth from the tub; he tenderly wiped her clean, stroking slow as she moaned with pleasure.

"Gil--" she whispered, "You win.”

And he laughed softly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

They cooked. Moving a little awkwardly in the narrow kitchen they bumped and muttered apologies and worked in tandem. Sara managed a decent pot of pasta noodles, draining them carefully. In mid-action she stopped and glanced over at Grissom, who was thoughtfully testing his spaghetti sauce with an index finger.

"Do you have garbage service here?"

He glanced up and shook his head with wry amusement.

"One more thing to consider. I can call about it on Tuesday. After dinner I'll put the new door locks on and give you your key. Is it all right if we pass on phone service?"

"Hey we both have cell, so unless you want a computer hookup . . .”

He shook his head emphatically. "I'd rather not have work here, Sara. No case files or computers or kits. The point is to concentrate on the part of our lives beyond those things, right?"

"How about a TV?" she asked, batting her eyes. He debated it for a moment and shook his head. She smiled.

"Wow, does this mean we'll have to rely on hobbies and reading to entertain ourselves?"

He shot her a look that made her squirm, eyebrow arching high. "Oh I HAVE a hobby, honey; it involves you and a safe word or two."

Sara cocked a hip and jutted her chin out in cheerful defiance. "This is all wrong. You've never done anything to me yet that's scared me or hurt me--if this is domination, I think I'd know it."

"Pain isn't necessarily a part of the dynamic, Sara. Your information is flawed. Is the bread out?" he muttered, stirring the sauce.

She pulled the baguette out and began slicing it lengthwise. "Well then clue me in here, Gris--I submit but it's because I want to. And logically, if I do that, then you're not necessarily dominating me. We're co-operative."

Grissom smiled. "You think that because you haven't broken any rules yet, sweetheart."

"What rules?" she asked, buttering the bread and laying it carefully in the heated oven.  
Grissom held out a spoonful of sauce and she gustily slurped it up. "The rules you keep to please me, Sara," he informed her patiently.

She thought about that, trying to figure out why it sounded right and wrong at the same time. "Like not letting Archie see me?"

Grissom shook his head edgily. "That was expedient for both of us--no, I mean my rules in the bedroom."

"What RULES?" exasperated, Sara paused to look at him and Grissom gave her a faint, maddening smile in return. It was the same look she'd seen a hundred times before, his mentor face.

"Think, Sara. What do you know about the way we are?"

She concentrated, mind racing as he carried the sauce over to the pasta and set it on the counter, fishing out paper plates from one of the cabinets. "Welllllll--I follow your lead.”

"Do you?" he shot her a quick glance, "Or do I merely give you opportunities to indulge YOURSELF?"

"Hey, I wasn't the one announcing I had a need to tie anybody UP!" Sara protested.

Grissom flashed her a quelling look. "I merely set various perimeters; YOU make the choice, honey. Nobody, least of all me ever forces a decision for you."

"But I WANTED to make love with you and would have taken ANY choice that would have led to that."

"ANY choice? If I'd insisted you wear a clown nose or that we only make love standing up, or you call me Master would you still have done it?"

Sara's mouth dropped open but nothing came out; Grissom leaned over and kissed it before loading his plate with pasta and scooping spaghetti sauce on it. "It's a subtle dance, Ms. Sidle, but I'm still leading. Tie me up and cover me with love bites as you will, but you're only deluding yourself that we're collaborating."

"You're manipulating the whole thing. Jesus!" she growled, snatching up a plate with trembling fingers. "I thought this was about TRUST, Grissom!"

"It is--it's just not about equality. You're already my match, Sara. I want MORE than that."

He carried his plate out to the backyard and sat on the brick steps that led down to the yard. The sun had just set, and the purple air was cooler. The lovely faint smells of the trees and the sun-baked grass drifted on the air. With slow reluctance, Sara came and joined him, her expression rebellious. She said nothing, but attacked her dinner with a hint of violence, and seeing it, Grissom smiled, faintly.

"Why?" Sara finally muttered, "I mean, that's all I have to know then--WHY are you this way? Other men don't have this compulsion to control things; they don't NEED--"

"I'm not other men, Sara. I don't have any pop psychology answers or easy explanations. The only two things I know for sure are that this is the way I am, and--I love you."

Sara paused mid-chew at this mumbled proclamation and Grissom leaned over, tapping her chin with his fork. "Swallow--you'll choke if you don't."

Hastily she did, looking at him with amazement.

He reddened. "What?"

"You SAID it. Again. You know--without sex."

"Without sex?" Grissom blinked, not comprehending her logic.

Sara nodded, eyes wide. "Without being in the throes of orgasm. See, things a guy declares in bed don't really count for most women, especially not something as declaratively sensitive as love. So even though you've said it before, the context took the impact away; I accepted that. But this is over spaghetti--this is BIG!"

"Over spaghetti makes it big? And the fact that I've felt this way for years, letting my hopeless passion for you burn in my soul while I hung back like an idiot, too afraid to say or do anything--” 

He didn't get to finish; Sara cupped his face and kissed him hard, her lips mingling passion and Parmesan in one gusty kiss; Grissom enjoyed all the flavors intensely, and took his time tasting her in another slow deep swipe of his tongue against hers.

Sara moaned, breaking off to breathe, laughing a little. "Very—savory.”

"Very," he agreed in a husky tone, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. This far from the city, the night sky was clear and Sara could see the first stars coming out.

A sudden melancholy flooded her senses. "When are we leaving?"

Grissom glanced at her slowly, startled by the question. He set his mouth in a line and looked up at the sky and spoke in a slow careful tone. "Soon I suppose. But we're coming back. You know that."

"Not for an entire week."

"I know," he agreed warily, as sensitive as she was to the close of the weekend looming before them. He set his plate down and reached for her, pulling Sara's lanky frame closer to him, drinking in her restless heat as it seeped through her shirt. Sara laid her head on his shoulder.

Grissom slid an arm around her. "Sad?"

"No," came her throaty voice, contended and slow, "Not here with you--I never could be sad. I just want to know the protocol, Grissom--how do you want to handle going back to our workplace status quo?" 

"I think it might go easier if you leave first," he decided, softly kissing her temple. "Anytime from now until Monday night, just--go."

She shifted her look at him, feeling a rush of tenderness. He understood that need to gather her courage and collect herself.

Enough time to slip the mask back on.

She nodded. "Right. And you'll stay here?"

"Only a while after you've gone, to lock up. This place is us, Sara. Notre maison."

She laughed. "Unser haus," came her grin.

"Ah! Nuestra hogar.”

"Don't you mean nuestro casa?"

"No, not just a house sweetheart, it's--"

Sara smiled, "Home. You DO know on top of being a brilliant scientist and a randy stallion in bed you're ALSO amazingly sentimental, Gil Grissom?"

"Two out of three--and was that a complaint?" he nuzzled the strong sweet curve of her neck, drinking in her scent and feeling restless again, WANTING her again. When Sara lifted her head to look at him, her espresso eyes held the spark of that reckless tease Gris adored.

"Ever do it naked in this back yard?"

Grissom waited a beat, looking up towards the tree house. "You mean--with another person?" he asked innocently.

Sara threw her head back and laughed; the throaty sound rose sweetly on the night air. Grissom grinned, chuckling himself and the moment wouldn't die. Every time Sara managed to get herself under some semblance of control she would see Grissom arch an eyebrow at her and lose it all over again.

"E-enough!' she pleaded, clutching her stomach. Grissom sighed with mock dramatic flair and got to his feet. He held a hand to her, tugging her up; she slid into his embrace as if molded for his arms. They stood in the starlight, quiet.

"Sara,” he murmured into her ear, lips pressing against the sweet shell of its upper rim. Her arms tightened around his back.

"Yes?"

"What's for dessert?"

He FELT her chuckle this time, an amazingly sensual vibration of her frame against his. Sara slid her hands down his broad back to grip his ass in a brazen move that both amused and aroused him. Grissom gave a little groan. "Ohhhh . . .”

Her hands slid around his hips with loving finesse, slowly drawing his fly down, the growl of it like a naughty whisper. Sara softly nipped his jaw line with little kisses as her fingers slid into his slacks.

"Actually, I was thinking of eating your prick," came her husky whisper.

Grissom shivered, at a loss for words while her hand slid in a loving grip along his heavy shaft, caressing him.

"May I?" Sara murmured against his slack mouth, delighted at his dazed expression.

"Sara--" She heard the soft plea in his voice and deliberately chose to misunderstand it. Sinking to her knees gracefully, she gently opened the button on his slacks and boxers, then pushed them down to mid-thigh, fingers moving deftly.

"Shhhh--want to concentrate here,” she told him, bending forward. Her tongue flicked out, giving a slow stroke along the sensitive underside, and Grissom tensed, his hands shifting forward to grab her shoulders; Sara felt he would have stumbled if she hadn't been there.

"You don't have to--” he tried to tell her, his voice thick, but Sara let her lips engulf him in a slow sensual slide downward. The husky groan that erupted from Grissom made her nipples rucker up.

Sara concentrated. She shifted one hand to cup the heavy silken mass between Grissom's thighs and let the other slide in front of her mouth, circling and tightening along the heated flesh, caressing it with care. Each wet slow stroke made him harder; his heavy grip on her shoulders tightened.

"Sweet Saaraaa . . .” came the pleasured growl that thrilled her. She wished she could see his expression, to know what he looked like, but the taste of him on her palate was enough for the moment and she hummed softly as the long sweet minutes rolled by. Grissom widened his stance, his breathing heavy and faster, his thrusts deeper.

Sara savored the sweet knowledge that Grissom was close, so very nearly out of control now; his thighs were tensing, and she could feel the throb of his cock along the insides of her cheeks and against her tongue. Her jaw ached a little; being this wide to accommodate him would take some getting used to.

"OhhSara--"

And then . . .

She pulled up and away, smiling sweetly into Grissom's wild eyes, his face tight and hungry. "Finish you off, lover?"

"ChristYES!NOW!" came his harsh grunt, a note of needy heat that sent a shiver through her. Sara plunged her lips back over his cock and tightened her grip once more. Grissom drove himself into her wet luscious mouth with a growl, his grip shifting to the back of her slender neck as his hips thrust in quick spasms, his outraged cock erupting deep in her throat.

Sara swallowed, amazed at how simple it was. Grissom's essence wasn't bitter--merely tangy, like a warm hollandaise, smooth and easy to drink down. She closed her eyes through the last slow spurts, feeling his pulse hammering through the thick vein on the underside of his cock and lovingly licked him clean.

"OhGod, I'm SORRY Sara, God! I just--it was so good, SO hot, and I just--" 

Sara gave a last loving kiss to the softening shaft and tucked it back into his boxers, hiding her smile. He let go of her neck and pulled her to her feet again and Sara was stunned at the expression on his face.

She'd seen Gil Grissom angry and cool, sad and concerned, amused and aroused, but never, never looking like this: wild, ashamed and burning with passion.

His eyes were huge and dark, searching hers desperately, his mouth in a hard line of self-recrimination. Sara drew in a deep breath, rocked to the core of her being at the sight of him so--

Naked.

"Hey,” tenderly she reached out the hand that had cupped his balls and lightly touched his face. Grissom shuddered, turning his face to kiss Sara's palm, his mouth burning against her skin.

A prickle of tears hit her hard and Sara understood then what this loss of control had cost him to reveal. Moving slowly, she took his hand and kissed HIS palm, mirroring his stance perfectly.

They stood locked like that for a long soulful moment that etched itself on the night.

Then, with a startling ferocity Grissom grabbed her, pulled her to him in a hard hug, as if trying to press her heart into his. Sara shakily laughed, the sound muffled against his shirt.

"Hey!" she softly protested, and he gentled his grip, raining little kisses across her forehead and down her cheeks, murmuring softly between each one.

"Sara, you drive me, crazy, you know, that?"

"I was starting to figure that out, actually,” she replied contentedly.

*** *** ***

Sara smiled, watching him through the glass as he wandered up the hall, head down, glasses slipping as he studied a tox sheet in his hand. Carefully, she turned to look at Catherine, who was tapping her foot impatiently, and Warrick who lounged with insolent ease against the edge of the table.

"About time,” Catherine snorted as Grissom strode into the break room and looked around. "Weekend so good you couldn't tear yourself away?" she added with good-natured sarcasm. 

Grissom smiled at her. "Took your advice," he shot back mildly.

"What advice was that?" Warrick wanted to know. Catherine froze, not sure if Grissom was teasing or not--with his poker expression it was impossible to tell.

"Catherine had a specific recommendation for my mood which I'm sure she'll be happy to know worked wonders. The point is, I know what we're looking at with these five clues. The Kama Sutra, the Legos, the melted beeswax candle, the fifteen left sneakers and the dried guppy--I know what they are."

"You do?"

"Scavenger hunt--they're items from a scavenger hunt," Sara broke in smoothly. Everyone looked over at her; Grissom was smiling.

"You stole my thunder, Sara."

"I had a good weekend too,” she replied solemnly, "AND I happened to notice that the seventeenth annual Henderson's Market Scavenger Hunt was going on from the flyers I got with my mail. Individual lists were mailed out to registered contestants, so we've got a pre-made database to work from."

Catherine nodded, looking at Warrick. "We can start with our vic's list and see from there.”

"And see if anything else was on his list, gotcha.”

They strolled out; Sara glanced at Grissom, who was watching her. "When did you figure it out?" she asked him.

He sighed, his mouth faintly smiling. "At the store, watching Archie walk up the aisle. They had a big poster for it by the cashier."

Sara nodded.

Grissom cocked his head, watching her, his eyes bright. "Going to be all right?" it was an honest question on many levels, and she warmed to it, nodding. They shared a quick warm glance.

"As long as I have my weekends, yeah, I'm pretty sure I will be," she smiled, reaching for the assignment slip he held out to her.

END


End file.
